Baubles and Boswells
by Winter Winks 221
Summary: My response to the 2014 Sherlock Holmes Advent Calendar Challenge 2014- I hope you like reading it!
1. Chapter 1

Prompt: Christmas Truce (WWI)

By: Lucilla

My very first entry for HLotD's Advent Calendar Challenge. I hope you enjoy!

...

When it happened, myself, along with several other soldiers, both who had served in Afghanistan, and young men no older than boys were talking and laughing. Suddenly, a watchman came in and told us that he heard…

"Singing? Pah! You must be drunk! How else would that happen?" snorted Major Severn. He was a tall man, not quite as tall as my esteemed friend Sherlock Holmes but his height was certainly unusual enough. He had greying hair, and had brown eyes which glinted with strictness and tough discipline.

"I swear t's true sir," insisted the watchman. "They were singing Christmas carols from their trench!"

"And how do I know you're not just lying then huh? Listen men, we came to France to win this war against Germany, not experience this 'traditional' nonsense! We were sent by Britain to defeat those Germans and not allow a single thing such as Christmas to stop us from killing and capturing those Germans. Is that clear?"

At this, I was positively fuming with rage. I shook with pure anger. We all hated Major Severn with a passion, as he treated us like we were capable of slaughtering fellow human beings, for the sake of politics. It was at times like this that I wondered if the government was brave enough to just deal with the politics, instead of getting the people of Britain involved. When I had come home from Afghanistan, wounded on both my shoulder and my leg, I had vowed to never go to another war again. Looks like I was asking for two much.

"IS THAT CLEAR, SOLDIER!" Severn roared, his voice rushing through my ears and pounding out all of my thoughts like a hammer smashing it way through antique vases.

I should have just said yes, and left it at that. But by now, I was too livid to care.  
"NO IT ISN'T!" I bellow. "We have to march out of these filthy, rotting trenches, march straight over No-Man's Land and kill fellow human beings! Since when has any of THIS been right?"

The major sucked in his cheeks, making a strange hissing sound- and then he seized my war-injured shoulder and gradually, I felt his fist curl like a vice of iron around the shoulder bone, and pressing my wound in deep. I had to bite my tongue hard in order to stop myself from crying out.

Now he hissed at me, spitefully, "You know exactly why we are here. WE were sent here by the government to fight for Great Britain and her people. You will do as you are ordered, Watson, and I that at the moment will be to heal our men so that we can defeat Germany! Understood?"

I nodded, grimacing. And with that satisfaction, he let me drop like a rag doll. Other soldiers came forward to assist me on rising, but a hand stopped them. Severn continued to watch me struggle, with a cold, fishy smile on his face.

By now, I was very het up, but I have now learned the consequences of crossing with him.

However, he was not yet done with me.

"Now, I need you to rescue Barke. He has an injury in his side and needs to be retrieved so that he can be mended here."

Very slowly I got out of the bunker and made my way towards No-Man's Land.

As I did so however, my foot slipped on the frozen mud and I collapsed, wincing. My injured leg which had been aching dully before was now aflame with the piercing cold. Curses poured from my tongue as I tried to get myself back up again, but my leg stubbornly refused to take my weight, so in the end I gave up.

"Haben Sie Hilfe benotigen? "

For a moment I panicked and tried to find my gun.

"Einfach! Einfach! Ich mochte nicht ihnen zu schaden." he said. He then offered a hand to me, as if wishing to help.

I was uncerain at first, due to what they had done to us so far, but then I decide to just go with it. So I extend my hand to him and with that, he deftly pulled me up.

I was about to thank him when he asked me" Bist du in Ordnung?"

Confused, I was about to attempt a reply, when Barke mouthed some words at me. I figured out that he was mouthing 'Are you alright?' He then pointed at the German soldier and nodded. It was then that I understood. He was translating what the German soldier had asked me.

Without thinking, I shook his hand as a sign of gratitude and thanked him heartily for his assistance. He didn't respond for a moment, as he was staring at me intently. Or rather, round my neck.

Finally he asked me something else.

The only words I caught were my name and my friend's name- I felt confused otherwise. But he pulled out a copy of a manuscript and then showed me what it was.

I laughed when I saw the title. It was none other than A Study in Scarlet!

"Oh so you read my accounts?" I asked him. I never thought it would go abroad, let alone be read by people who never even heard of Holmes before.

He clapped my shoulder in a warm but hard manner and put the book away. He withdrew cigarettes and some matches.

"Care for smoke? "He asked, in a gruffer voice than previously. I could see that he was unused to English, and had not learnt a lot of it at school.

I agreed and soon, Barke, Ludwig and I were smoking cigars. General Severn had found us like this sometime later.

He was not happy. All morning he shouted abuse at us and said that if we wanted to die at the hands of the Germans, that our problem. He then marched back to the trenches and began barking orders at the others (he had an EXTREMLY loud voice)

Soon, all our soldiers swarmed out of the trenches and joined the Germans, who were also flooding in No-Man's Land from their trench.

Soon we were exchanging small presents, such as tobacco, buttons and other such items. I soon found myself telling stories about my cases with Holmes and about the man himself.

Later, at about three o' clock, we cast aside our weapons and had decided on a game of...

"FOOTBALL!"

There was cheering as we passed the ball to each other, scored goals and won many points. This pleasant game went on for a good two hours. In the end although we were very close, the Germans had won the game, as a young private had scored a goal just before the end of the second half, so after words of congratulation and on the effort well put in were exchanged, we all agreed on a more solemn matter; the burial of our dead. We sang a few hymns; both in English and German, and a priest conducted the services. He was German, but was fluent in English as well. However, after the service, he bumped into me, and that was when it clicked- Holmes and I had helped him solve a murder and two robberies connected with the Church!

"Doktor Vatsun?" he asked, in a strong German accent. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Father Stefan." I replied. I felt an honest surprise seeing him again. I knew that there was a German priest, -or least I heard- but I had no idea that I would even see him again in this Heaven forsaken place.

"Vell, it is a pleasure to meet you again, my son. How is Herr Holmes?"

"He's… fine." I replied, though I felt quite inadequate saying so. The poor chap was probably missing me.

The Reverend Stefan seemed to believe me, however, and so we ended up in a conversation for nearly ten minutes. So our topic had drifted to Edgar Allan Poe and to my delight, I found that Father Stefan enjoyed reading his works.

"I particularly enjoy C. Auguste Dupin." admitted the Reverend.

"Why?" I queried.

"Ah, I have a fondness for detective stories, you see."

I nodded. I knew that Holmes had thought little of Dupin, but I didn't mind in the slightest.

"And you first introduced you to Edgar Allan Poe?"

"It was my maternal grandfather. He was English and he enjoyed reading immensely. Poe was a firm favourite."

"I am very sorry, but I have to go." I said, with a hint of regret in my tone. "I had enjoyed talking with you, Father Ludwig."

He nods. We share a handshake and after the services were over, we continued our festivities well into the evening.

Severn had it in for me when the lads and I returned home that evening, but I didn't care.

Living with my dear and close friend, Sherlock Holmes as well as today have both reminded how sacred all human life is. Too bad Severn does not that opinion about my own life.

Well there you have it! I hope you enjoyed that, as there will be more stories coming out for the rest of this month.

Disclaimer: I only own Father Stefan, Ludwig, Edward Barke, and Severn. Sherlock Holmes and Watson belong to ACD.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt: A case solved in 1minute 23 seconds

By: Temporarily Abaft  
Enjoy!

Holmes' fingers drummed incessantly on the arm of his chair, slight growls of frustration coming out of his mouth. He glared at Lestrade.

"Well?" he spat, with more than a mere hint of venom in his tone.

The inspector shot an ice cold glare at the consulting detective. If looks were capable of murder, I dare say both of them would have been stone cold dead by now. Before I could stop myself, a chuckle emitted from my lips.

"Doctor Watson!" Lestrade snapped. "A foul murder had been committed two hours ago, and you choose to laugh now?"

"I'm not laughing at that!" I protest indignantly. "I... was thinking of something else."

"Something else or some _one_ else, Watson?" Holmes queried and I felt a hot blush creep across the back of my neck and on my face. How had he known?

"Now would you be so kind as to repeat the details Lestrade?" Holmes asked

The man in question just huffed. "Very well then, Mr Holmes. At two o' clock of this very afternoon, a lady found her husband murdered with a letter opener. He was very wealthy, had good social upstanding, had two kids and was married twice."

"I see." Holmes murmured, puffing on his pipe.

"So who did it?"

"Hmm…" My friend said naught else as he pondered the question over, whilst Lestrade and I exchanged glances of dread and worry over his answer.

At last he said.

"There is no murder Lestrade."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, there was no murder." He repeated, looking very livid now, "The maid startled him whilst she was cleaning and he was opening a letter. She bumped his elbow, and the knife slit into his stomach, hence the reason why he bled to death. Now go shoo, I'm busy."

Lestrade just sniffed and with a "Good day to you Doctor," to me, he left.

Once the door shut, Holmes expression changed instantly to one of intrigue.

"Well Watson, how long did-"

"1 minute and 23 seconds, Holmes."

Holmes cursed. I just chuckled again.

"So much for relying on science and deductions eh?" I tease, then I hold out a hand. "Come on old fellow. You lost. Now pay up."

Holmes just threw a cushion at me, which I dodged and ran into my room, where I began laughing like a madman over what had happened.

Looks like the great Sherlock Holmes can lose a bet for not being able to solve a case under a minute from time to time.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt: Blood on snow is too vivid to miss…

By W. Y. Traveller

"You never give up, do you?" A man snarled at me

"Yeah he's done nothing except trying to free himself the past hour." Agreed another.

"Well, that's why you were told to keep an eye on him." Said the first, impatiently. He turned to me, who was looking around for a way out of this dank, miserable cell. Outside, the moon shone her silver dress upon the snowy ground, and the stars twinkled in admiration. But unlike the stars, I had no time to appreciate the scenery outside, as I was in a very ugly predicament.

"Now," he said. "No point trying to escape. You're quite trapped in here. Where is Mr Holmes?"

I said nothing in response. I just gave what I hoped was a steely glare, even though my stomach was rapidly turning itself inside me.

A cold hard slap was all I got for my troubles.

"Well, where is he?"

I grimaced. My cheek was stinging from the blow, and yet I managed to keep back tears of pain that formed in my eyes. And yet, I still had some defiance left in me. I kept up my glare.

"Suit yourself." Said the first man. The two then gave me a threatening look, as if to say _"We warned you. Now you will suffer the consequences."_

"Oi, Donaldson! Francis! Get out here now!"

 _My hero,_ I thought, dryly.

"Ughh, coming." they moan in unison. They both glared -and gave a few choice words- at me before running out to join the other guards.

Up to this point, I had been standing within the confinements of my cell, but my legs were shaking badly now, and my wounded limb was starting to weary me, so I sat down with some difficulty, as my feet were tied up as well. I bury my face into my knees as I remember the argument which Holmes and I had earlier.

It had been a hard day. Holmes and I had arrived at the Silver Key Inn and were shown to our room. _It was small and damp, but we were only going to be there a night anyway. Once we were settled we had started conversation._

" _So, Holmes any leads on the case so far?" I inquire, sitting on the bed. It groaned in protest as my body mass sank into it._

 _I have a theory, Holmes replied, but I will need to test it first. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go out and-"_

" _Oh no, you don't." I say, firmly, like a mother about to scold her child. I'm coming with you._

" _I would prefer to this on my own Watson. Do not make it difficult for me." He replied._

" _Holmes I insist that I accompany you-"_

" _It is too dangerous Watson; I am afraid I cannot-"_

" _Have you forgotten," I hissed, "that I have been shot in Afghanistan and survived? And also that I have been near death on several cases? Does that not tell you_ that I am capable of this one as well?"

" _You are not going, and that is final." Holmes voice was showing that I was treading on very dangerous ground indeed._

" _Well in case you haven't noticed, you excluded me from this case so far. It was one of the most complex affairs I have ever come across. Do you not care about my company anymore?"_

 _Holmes just stared at me for a split second- and then his palm flew right into my cheek with a blow._

 _Now, in this particular moment in time, my face throbbed. I gave Holmes a brief look, before I snap._

" _Well I guess you don't need me here anymore. I shout and with that I storm out of the inn…_

"And then… it'll be 'Goodnight Mr Holmes!" Laughed a man from outside. His chortles freed me from my thoughts, but my blood ran cold. Were they…

"Ohh, I can't believe we get to murder Mr Holmes!" Another man squeaked. He sounded like he had on overdose of helium.

"Shh, Perky! Be quiet! We don't want that Watson fellow to get any ideas." Burone, the man in a deep, smooth voice, hissed.

"What? He's locked up ain't he?"

"Well yes. But we can't have him go out and save Mr Holmes or the boss will kill us. Right, let's go."

Once the door slammed, I frantically tried again and again to get free, for Holmes sake, but to avail

 _Oh Holmes I'm so sorry_ , I thought, _I'm sorry we fought._ _My only fear is that I'll never-_

 _No Watson, You survived Afghanistan, survived Holmes you can do this_. I admonished and so, I wriggled on my side for a moment. If I could stay still, maybe I could free my hands by wriggling one out of the rope at a time. I had no time to lose.

I drove myself harder and harder, aiming higher and higher, to get myself free of those wretched ropes which were chaffing my poor wrists. My good cufflinks kept receiving new patterns on them as I cursed and fought to free my right hand in order to untie my feet, escape, save Holmes, apologise and get some supper as well.

I continued on doing this even when my hands were both freed, as it took me a good half hour to get the rope off, I think.

And with that accomplished, I untied my feet, with many curses and reknotting, picked the cell lock with one of Mary's needles and ran out for the door.

….

Panting, I knew that, some twenty minutes later, I was lost. So I decided to stop, and look for the North Star.

That was when my heart froze.

The moon was shining down on… blood.

At this point in time, dear readers, I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate. Where was Holmes? What had happened and why?

Was he… still alive?

I felt my knees begin to buckle for the second time that night. But I didn't care. I felt worried about Holmes.

A hand manifested itself upon my good shoulder, and squeezed it tightly.

Startled, I whip around, falling as I do so.

A familiar face smiled at me in amusement, moonlight casting a soft glow on the features of none other than

"Holmes!"

Indeed. Are you alight Watson? He queried.

Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about my fall, or the fight.

I I'm fine Holmes. I manage to say. Are you...

"Yes, yes," he said, waving a hand dismissively. And that was when I noticed.

"Holmes! Your arm is bleeding!"

"Oh what an _excellent_ observation, doctor." He said sarcastically. But his expression soon softened to one of worry.

"Watson, he whispered. "I'm sorry, for not including you in this case. And, um, for slapping you." He added hastily. I noticed he was looking on my cheek.

"No, I think that was justified." I said firmly "I'm the one who's sorry Holmes. You know better than I do, and I should have trusted you."

You are forgiven. He said. He suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace.

For the first two seconds, I could barely breathe. But, regardless, I wrapped my arms around my friend, not caring if blood was getting on my jacket.

I would have to treat his arm anyway.

A/N: Well there you have it! Third day, already! A bit of a longer story for you dears, seeing as I had a bit more time on my hands! Thank you to those of you who have reviewed BoB so far, I never got so many reviews for one story before, and I am very thankful. Also, thank you to Hades, Lord of the Dead, for coming up with an awesome challenge! Thank you to Lucille, Temporarily Abaft and W.Y Traveller, for coming up with these prompts. Thank you KnightFury and Mrs Pencil for the follows (and to the former for the favourite as well) and thank you everyone for reading! And now that have expressed my gratitude, I will be quiet, except for one last teeny little thing. I hope you have enjoyed this story, and that you will leave a review.

Silvermouse :D


	4. Chapter 4

Prompt: Physician, heal thyself

By: Madam' zelleGiry

For what felt like the thousandth time in an hour, I fished out a handkerchief and sneezed into it, for a total up to three times in succession. Across the table, Holmes just growled in frustration and threw his paper aside.

"Dammit, Watson!" He snapped. "Can you stop sneezing? Mrs Hudson is a very proficient cleaner, you know."

Of course, I was prepared to expect such remarks from my friend and colleague, seeing as that was the highlight of my morning. Sneezing, that is.

"For goodness sake Holmes," I snap. "I have a cold."

"Well tough. I have a case, and you're coming."

"I… I don't think that's a good idea old fellow," I reply, rapidly fishing out a handkerchief to blow my now running nose. "Did you not hear me coughing last night?"

"Yes, frankly you sounded like a dying pig."

I just cursed under my breath at Holmes' lack of concern and stared at my breakfast with disdain. Mrs Hudson was a wonderful cook, but I felt like one mouthful would be more than what I could cope with. Subconsciously I pushed my plate away and then fiddled with my thumbs.

The detective just lifted an eyebrow at me- or rather, my noticeable lack of appetite.

"Not hungry, Doctor?"

I shake my head. "I told you, I'm sick." I suddenly clutch at my forehead. "Oh good lord I'm dying, Holmes."

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "You're not dying old man, at least, not quickly anyway... If you were, don't you think I'd bemoan for my Boswell?"

All I could do was my face into my hands and groan. I had woken with a headache and a violent cough, which was all I was doing last night, so now I felt exhausted. I had also been ill in the bathroom the previous evening, which Mrs Hudson helped out with; Holmes was too busy playing his blasted violin. I had retired early due to my sickness, and then at two o' clock in the morning I found myself reading C. Auguste Dupin for a couple of hours, seeing as my sleeping pattern had been disturbed.

"Oh come on Watson," cajoled Holmes. "Please can you come out on the case? I promise it wouldn't be for long."

I instantly regretted looking at Holmes expression at that point. He was making 'puppy eyes' at me, and I knew then that was only one answer.

"Very well then, Holmes."

He squeaked with joy at this, to which I raised an eyebrow, before his expression became stoic and expressionless once more.

"Excellent. We are headed for Montague Street to solve a robbery. Don't forget your revolver. Or your cane, for that matter."

…

Half an hour later, on Montague Street, Holmes was belittling Lestrade and the other officers whilst I listened as usual, when a dry, tickly feeling arose in my throat.

I tried my best to quell it but it eventually proved to be in vain as a violent coughing fit struck me down. It pained my chest and throat immensely.

"Watson, if you intend to die today, could you not die somewhere else?" Holmes huffed at me

"Shut… up …Holm…mes!" I wheezed.

"Are you alright Doctor?" Lestrade asked with obvious concern outlined in his tone of voice.

I nodded weakly.

"What were you thinking Holmes?" Lestrade asked my friend. "He's clearly as sick as a parrot."

"Enough of your similes Lestrade, it is a mere cough, I'm sure." Homes replied, in his accustomed cold, distant manner.

" _Physician heal thyself, physician heal thyself_ " I whispered, trying to encourage my body to dispose of this illness and help Holmes and Lestrade.

Sadly, mantras like this do not work, and I was soon in a huge coughing fit.

It continued longer than most coughs and by the end of it I wanted to curl up on the snowy ground and sleep

"Watson… Watson!"

"Hm?"'

"Come- we are done here for to-day."

I sighed.

"Are you sure you're alright, Doctor Watson?" Persisted Lestrade. "You'd be better off taking a cab."

"I doubt we'll find one in this weather, Lestrade. Now, come Watson- let us return to our rooms."

All I could do was wave goodbye to the good inspector as my friend gently but firmly pulled me away towards Baker Street.

…

"There you are Doctor Watson." Mrs Hudson announced, as she handed me some soup and blankets. "You must be chilled to the bone!"

"Thank… _atchoo! …_ You Mrs Hudson." I sigh with relief, before beginning to eat my soup.

"Now," she added, turning to Holmes. "Whatever were you thinking, dragging the poor Doctor halfway through London whilst he is sick?"

"We only went as far as Montague Street Mrs Hudson." said he with a slight pout. Besides, he wanted to come."

"That's no excuse!" she snapped, "You should look after your friend, Mr Holmes- or else!"

And with a haughty sniff, she swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

For a while, the two of us remained in companionable silence. I lay on the couch, shivering as I attempted to finish my vegetable soup, whilst Holmes smoked his pipe thoughtfully. I had no doubt that my friend was thinking about the case.

But, just as my eyelids were getting heavier and heavier still, a voice interrupted.

"Watson, I am… very sorry for forcing you out into the cold like that"

"No, it's my fault. I should have declined." I sigh.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Holmes, of course. You're my friend."

The detective beams a rather shy smile at me upon hearing those words.

I smile back, trying to stiffen myself against the coldness that only I could feel.

An arm wraps itself around my shoulders and soon, my head was resting against Holmes shoulder. He rubbed my arm comfortingly as I felt myself being drawn into the embrace of Morpheus.

As I fell asleep, I was only aware of two things; the half empty soup bowl being removed from my weakening grasp, and a small chaste kiss upon my forehead.

A/N: Sorry for the delay folks! Kudos to Madam zelleGiry for the prompt, as I had been feeling ill recently as well, so hence the reason why this was better than previous updates. As always, reviews welcome! By the way, Watson's illness was based on an incident I had a week ago, but I altered the details to fit this story, except for the expedition and aftermath. When Watson was reading Dupin, I was reading Poirot. Could have read Holmes instead, but the Belgian won it out. Other details, I'd rather keep quiet. So there you have it. More to come, so keep your eyes peeled!

Silvermouse


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt: An encounter of the magical kind

By: Hades Lord of the Dead

Warning: Holmes may be OOC. I don't know, but probably is.

 _At last,_ _I'm almost home_ , I thought with a sense of triumph swelling in my chest. It had not been a good day, at all. But I decided to forget about it, and instead focus on just getting inside and warm up. I hoped Mrs Hudson was in. I could do with some soup. And poor Watson was stuck at home as well, as his war wounds were playing up. I would have stayed in as well, but Lestrade had pestered me to help him finish an old forgotten case. The whole process was quite elementary, really.

A sudden thud snaps me from my train of thought and I realise that I am sprawled on the pavement, outside the steps of 221B. I curse out loud over my latest misfortune…only to have a shrill voice grate at my ears;

"Mr Holmes! How could you speak such… vulgarities! _And_ in front of a lady as well! Have you no shame, _sir_?"

I noticed that the last part of that sentence was drawled with sarcasm. I groan inwardly as I look up into the face of none other than my landlady, Mrs Hudson.

"My apologies, Mrs Hudson. I did not realise that you were right behind me."

"Hmph!" She sniffed, but, nevertheless, helped me up onto my own two feet and up the steps leading towards 221B.

"So how's Watson?" I ask, in an offhand manner.

"Doctor Watson is currently entertaining guests, Mr Holmes, so I suggest that you be on your very best behaviour."

 _What a nag_ , I thought, _I know how to behave!_ But of course, I only continued smiling a false smile and nodding appropriately.

"Now remember Mr Holmes you must-"

"Yes I know Mrs Hudson!" I called, running up the stairs to our rooms.

…

I thrust open the door, only to find Watson dozing in his armchair… with something in his lap. It was black, and appeared to be a kitten, or a puppy, perhaps. I was not sure.

Well it certainly can't be… But regardless of doubt, I decided to investigate.

Gingerly, I tiptoe across the living room, wincing whenever a creak emitted from the floorboards and echoed off the walls. But my companion remained sleeping still.

At last, I reached the chair. Reluctantly, a hand went out towards the creature, when it stirred...and stared right at me.

It was not a kitten, or a puppy.

Rather, it was a mole.

…

"Good evening, Mr Holmes." The mole greeted me politely.

With many gasps and curses I leapt to my feet, knocking over an old ornament of a dog from the mantelpiece. It tumbled down and then smashed to pieces among the hearth. In the depths of his chair, Watson stirred and slowly opened his eyes.

"Holmes what are you doing?" He asked, confusion evident in his voice, which was still thick with sleep.

"Watson, you've got to help me. I thought I heard that mole talking!" I grasped at his sleeve in a blind panic.

"Oh, you mean Verity," My friend chuckled. "She's my guest, Holmes."

"Have you lost your mind Watson -that is a mole in our rooms!"

"I'll have you know, Mr Holmes," called the aforementioned mole "that I am not just some mole. I have a name, you know. Your friend told you. I have referred to you by your proper name, so I suggest you do the same to me and then we will be fair."

"You really should listen to her Holmes." Watson advised me. "Now calm down old man. You're not exactly giving a good impression of a detective, are you?"

"So he's the detective you told me about Doctor." Verity chuckled. "He seems to be a complete clown." 

"Well he did just meet a talking mole. I don't think he'll be in a normal state." My Boswell replied, trying to supress a smile of amusement.

Verity chuckled again, which made my nerves rise to an abnormal level of agitation. But before I could react, the wretched mole held out her paw, as if wanting to shake hands.

"I beg your pardon Mr Holmes." she said with eloquence now in her tone. I do respect you. Why, you inspired my career! In a sense, of course."

I was surprised! "Are you… a detective, also?"

"Yes, indeed!" And she flashed me a smile.

I felt awed as I shook her paw gently but firmly.

"Well, this is news to me." I smile.

"I thought so. I've been telling the good doctor here some of our cases"

"Wait, what do mean-"

"Karista!" Yelled Verity.

At once, a tiny winged being fluttered into the room, closely followed by Toby the basset hound, a strange look of devotion in his eyes.

"Mr Holmes, this is Karista, my friend and companion. She has also helped me in my cases."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Sherlock Holmes" Chimed Karista. She was a pretty thing. She had short brown, mousey hair, thin gossamer wings, resembling those of a dragonfly, and wore a dress of a midnight blue. She also had bare, dainty feet.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." I murmur, somewhat uncomfortably.

"I understand that you may be in disbelief about all this," Karista continued. "But it's nothing to be afraid of."

She then dropped the softest of kisses on the tip of my hawk-like nose.

Before I could stop myself a smile emerges on my face.

For the rest of that evening, Watson, Toby and I were enthralled by the tales Verity and Karista told us about the cases they had solved, and in return, we recounted some of our own cases that we had solved, though Watson mentioned how I had been outwitted by 'The Woman'.

And as Mrs Hudson served us tea and scones, I felt honoured to know I had made some new friends. Even if they were a fairy and a talking mole.

A/N: Well, the prompt for the 5th day! This was hard, as I had a few ideas on what I could do, but none fitted, so in the end, I decided to use a character I created- Verity the mole Detective. I'm not trying to best Basil or anything-I just thought it would be a fun thing to do. So, sorry it's late, and thanks for reading!

P.S Sorry if anyone is not a fan of moles or fairies. And if Holmes is too OOC for your liking.

Disclaimer: Kept forgetting to mention, but, Holmes, Watson, Mrs Hudson and Toby do not belong to me. However, Karista and Verity do.


	6. Chapter 6

Prompt: When receiving that emerald tie pin, Holmes finds out that a certain monarch has a fondness for Watson's stories

By: Domina Temporis

 _Dear Sherlock Holmes,_

 _You are invited to come to Windsor for the day. Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria wishes to speak with you in regards of the Bruce Partington Plans, which you recently recovered. I of course, will be in attendance and am looking forward to seeing you again. A cab will come in an hour after you receive this letter._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Your loving brother,_

 _Mycroft Holmes_

I sighed as I looked at the letter that had been sent. It was typical of Mycroft to be so formal, even to his own brother. Now I pondered should I go? I decided that I would. But, what about Watson? He wasn't up yet, and I doubted he would wake up anytime soon. Mycroft hadn't mentioned whether or not he was allowed to come. So in the end, I opted to just leave him here and also leave a message with Mrs Hudson. She was much more reliable than a scrap piece of paper with scrawls on it, as I have discovered in the past. Speaking of Mrs Hudson, I summon her in ask for a relatively light breakfast.

…

About three quarters of an hour later, I was ready. I was just about to go and leave a message with Mrs Hudson for Watson when I heard someone plodding downstairs.

"Holmes? Where are you going?

He was standing in the door to the bedrooms. His hair was unkempt and his night garments were askew. 

I smile fondly at my Boswell. "Oh I'm just going out, old chap. I'll be back in a few hours, so don't bother to wait for me."

He nodded, a yawn attempting to escape at the same time.

"I am going out to see Mycroft." I say. At least equivocation exists. I'll tell him what happened later on.

"Fair enough, old man." Watson replies and he gives me a warm and sleepy smile.

…

Soon I arrive at Windsor, where Mycroft is waiting for me.

"Ah, Sherlock!" he exclaimed. "How have you been, brother mine?"

"Well enough thank you."

"And the doctor?"

"He is well also."

"Why isn't he with you then?"

I glared. "I was under the impression that this was a _private_ visit, Mycroft." I growl.

"My apologies. Now shall we go inside? Her Highness has been expecting you." He offers me an arm.

I sigh formidably, but accept Mycroft's extended arm, and we walk in together.

….

"Good morning, Mr Holmes" The queen extended a hand towards me. Now, I held insufferable loyalty to the Crown, so for the first time in a very long time, I felt nervous as I extend a hand also. What if I did something wrong?

"Good morning, Your Majesty." I say, with a handshake and a courteous nod- and she winced.

I immediately blanched.

"Pardon me, but did I do anything wrong?"

"Well, not intentionally I'm sure the Queen Victoria murmured in reply, looking down.

I followed her gaze and saw that my hand had rather a firm grip on hers.

"I do apologise." I say with an unusual stammer, and I withdraw my hand.

Oh, that's alright Mr Holmes," she replied, breezily, "though I never thought that you would… perspire so easily."

My face was as red as a beetroot whilst my brother offered the Queen a clean new handkerchief which had not been used. I had thought it best not to mention this incident again since.

"Now Mr Holmes the younger, I invited you here so that I could award you for the outstanding work you have performed for the country very recently, by recovering the Bruce- Partington plans."

"It was nothing, really." I remark, waving a hand dismissively. 

"Sherlock! Don't be so rude!" Mycroft hissed, from where he had been standing on one side from Queen Victoria's throne. 

However, she took no notice.

"Although, I didn't solve this case _all_ by myself." I added, feeling a slight tinge of… guilt, for taking all the credit.

"Oh?"

"I had assistance from Watson, of course."

"As in, Doctor John Watson, the doctor who isn't in today?"

"Err, yes." In my head, I was thinking: _What does she want with Watson?_

"Well actually, I wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed reading his stories." She gushed, for lack of a better word. "They sound so very exciting you know. Not like the boring, old assassination attempts that a royal Monarch lives through."

I felt disgusted. She _liked_ Watson's accounts?

"I don't see how anyone can like one of his accounts, Your Majesty. They are too… romantic for one of my profession."

"Sherlock!" hissed a venomous voice.

But the Queen only laughed.

"I am very fond of them Mr Holmes. My Albert is too, as a matter of fact. Although, I do think you should support your friend. He has been through a lot more than what you can deduce."

I pondered over this for a moment. I filed it into my memory so that I could dwell on this later.

"Now, I believe I promised you a reward."

I feel a burning sensation creep across my neck and my hands begin to break out in floods of moisture.

"Oh no I really must decline. I possibly couldn't-"

"Mr Holmes, I am a woman of my word, and as Queen, it my duty to reward those who deserve it most. I hereby bequeath a thousand pounds and a knighthood to your honourable name."

"I do not deserve so significant a reward." I told her, boldly. "I would rather I was not given at all, though I do not mean offence by my declination of this offer."

The Queen thought about this, and I felt highly nervous. After all, she was the Queen. I was a mere detective, though I was the best one in London.

But in the end it turned I had nothing to worry about.

"Very well then, if you do not wish for so high an honour, then I shall drop the subject of a knighthood."

"Thank you."

"However, I do insist that you accept a reward of some sort. I will instead give you 500 pounds, and this." She pulled out a _small black box, brand new. Item inside: tie pin. Handmade by the Royal Jeweller._

Carefully, as if it was made of glass, she handed me the receptacle.

Inside, was a sparkling gold tie pin, which was set with a fine and beautiful emerald.

I was speechless.

"That belonged to my father. She said, speaking in a soft, sad tone. It was a wedding present from a close relative. On his death of pneumonia, my mother owned it. I kept it as a memento, as I had found it one day. Albert was supposed to receive it, on our wedding day, but he confided in me that he didn't want the pin, so he told me I could keep it, and perhaps give it to someone who deserves it more than he. And now, I want you to have it."

"Why th- thank you." I reply. I allow the Queen to affix it upon my tie, which I only wear on formal occasions, such as this. 

"Oh, and give this to Doctor Watson, wouldn't you?" She added, handing a white piece of paper.

I stare at the envelope. "I will."

"Thank you. Now, would you and your brother like to stay for tea?"

It was later on in the day when the same cab returned me to Baker Street. I was up the steps and in our rooms before I knew it.

Watson was sitting in his armchair, reading. I guess he must have taken advantage of the time I was away, as I never give him peace and quiet.

"Good evening, Watson!" I call out as I step through the door.

Watson jumped, and dropped his book. "Hello old chap," he replied, before stooping for the object that he had just dropped.

As soon as he was up again, his gaze focused on my tie pin.

"That's an exquisite tie pin Holmes." he remarked, "Did you buy it?"

"No. It was a present from a rather gracious lady, Watson." I replied.

And so that brings that to an end.

Until three days later.

"Holmes? Why is there a letter addressed to me, on your bed?" 

Oh great. Now he'll find out that his stories have caught the interests of royalty.

I'm done for.

A/N Well, hope you enjoyed that! Sorry its a few days late, but I've been busy and well. But good news- one more week of school and then I'll be off for two weeks! YES! I can't wait! Cos I'll probably get more stories up. Sorry if anyone was OOC and thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Prompt: Protection

By: Domina Temporis

The idea for this was inspired by I'm Nova's 28th December prompt from last year. So kudos to her! Enjoy!

He growled at the man in front of him, who was currently trembling violently and whimpering. Vincent Howles just looked a pathetic man. Snivelling, crying, _and_ shaking? His colleagues… they'd all laugh at him!

What about his boss? Howles had to suppress an especially strong shudder at the very thought of having to explain his defeat.

Sure, he could usually just get by the boss. Pathetic little coward he may be, but he was no idiot. Well, usually. He was an entrusted criminal, never usually bungling up robberies that he committed. He could not stand the sight, smell or thought of human blood- he didn't understand how others could- but he knew how to mug someone expertly, could conduct a robbery at the Bank of England at the busiest time of the day, and if necessary, even swipe the crown off Queen Victoria's head! And now here he was, facing an enemy-and had failed to defeat him.

Doctor John Watson was now currently helping their beloved landlady up on her feet.

"Are you alright Mrs Hudson?" He inquired.

"Yes I'm quite alright Doctor." she said impatiently waving him off politely. "If it were not for him, I could well have ended up worse you know!"

Sherlock Homes just grinned. Then he gave a low whistle.

"Toby, come!"

Toby looked up at his master and grinned, almost, before lifting up his hind leg.

Howles paled. "No, no, _nooo_ " he moaned.

The dog instantly relieved himself-and all over his new trousers too!

Howles decided that now would be a good time to live up to his surname, whilst the detective barked with laughter over the man's misfortune. Watson's fingers could not hide the size of his smile, and even Mrs Hudson was very amused by the situation.

Soon enough, Holmes sprinted to Scotland Yard to fetch Inspector Lestrade, so that Howles' arrest could be made. Watson and Toby were left to guard him.

Fifteen minutes later Holmes, along with Lestrade, returned to Regent's Park- just in time to find a snarling, vicious looking Toby being restrained by Watson.

"Holmes! Lestrade! Thank goodness. Toby's been trying to tear the man's hand off!" 

"Never mind, old man. He would have deserved it, for striking down an innocent woman and for attempting to rob her as well."

Lestrade hauled him up his feet and fixed on a pair of handcuffs.

As he did so, he noticed a wet patch on Howles' trousers.

"Whatever in the world happened Mr Holmes?" he asked. He looked absolutely baffled.

"Toby," The sleuth answered. He bent down and patted the dog's head affectionately. He attacked Howles; who had struck down Mrs Hudson and attempted to rob her. So, good old Toby decided to teach him a lesson.

"Well." The inspector remarked. "This sounds like the sort of thing that you would have done, Mr Holmes."

"I agree, Inspector." He said, before glaring at the man with daggers.

"Right, you're coming with me." And with that, he strode off, towing Howles behind him, but not before praising Toby for catching a dangerous criminal, and also spoke to Mrs Hudson, for he hoped she would recover from her ordeal soon.

Holmes thanked as he left, and proposed to the others that they should return to Baker Street for tea. They agreed.

However, he bent down to speak to Toby,

"Well done Toby. You are undoubtedly the bravest and most loyal friend I ever have."

"And what am I then? Last week's liver?" Demanded Watson. Unfortunately, he had overheard Holmes.

The sleuth only huffed. "Fine then, the bravest and most loyal non- human friend I ever have. Are you happy now, Watson?"

"Yes, Holmes I certainly am." And the good doctor strolled in the direction of 221B, arm in arm with Mrs Hudson.

Once more, the detective turned his attention to his loyal canine friend. He reached out and stroked Toby's back gently. The hound enjoyed moments of such affection

They remained like this for a while, until Holmes stood up, and called on Toby to come.

Later that evening, Toby enjoyed himself immensely. Mrs Hudson gave him a treat, which was a bit of steak, and Holmes, who had opted for bacon instead, accidently dropped bits of bacon on the floor under the table. The dog gobbled up everything gleefully.

Later, he felt full, so he jumped on the couch and quickly fell asleep. Mrs Hudson looked at him fondly.

"You know Mr Holmes; to begin with, I had never approved on having the dog here. But now, Toby's one of the family."

Holmes and Watson were quick to agree.

And from a small opening in the wall, someone else was quick to agree.


	8. Chapter 8

Prompt: The sergeants' left foot

By: Stutley Constable

Groaning, I pick myself up and brush down my clothes, cursing my momentary clumsiness. Upstairs, I heard Holmes spring off his armchair and make his way over to the door. I quickly stoop for the object- which was thankfully undamaged- and then stood up straight, holding it under my arm.

The door opened, and my friend, Sherlock Holmes, emerged from our rooms upstairs. He was in his dressing gown, and his hair was more than mildly askew.

"Are you alright, Watson? I heard some _thing_ fall down the stairs." 

"Yes I'm fine, Holmes." I lie. My shoulder felt even worse now than it when I had reached home, with it taking the impact of my fall.

"Lies, Watson, lies!" He shrieked, pointing at me.

"Holmes," I say, warningly, somewhat alarmed by this sudden outburst," I do hope you have not taken cocaine again."

"I can assure you, I am clean!" snapped Holmes. "You, on the other hand, have a gash on your forehead!"

I thought this behaviour odd of my friend, but a quick test soon revealed that he was not lying about a wound.

I curse again.

"Right, come along then Watson, I'll see to that wound."

"Hold on a moment, Holmes."

With a grunt, I make my way upstairs again, with Holmes hovering anxiously.

…

I set the painting down on our new table that -we had bought less than a week ago. And then studied it closely. (The painting, not the table, before anyone assumes that I have become more bizarre than my dear friend.) It was of a sergeant standing tall, proud and dignified.

"Well, what do think?" I ask.

"Who is he Watson?" Holmes asked. I gave a huff in response.

"I don't know Holmes. All I know is that he was a real person, and he fought in a battle. Are you _quite_ happy now?"

"No."

"How not, old friend?"

"His left foot." The sleuth replied blandly, grabbing his violin, and began plucking at the strings, giving me a dormant look.

"Beg pardon?"

"It is not there." He said as if he had been asked to pass something that wasn't even there to begin with.

I stared first at him, and then the painting, trying to figure it out.

Now, I can assure you, dear reader, that at the time I really thought that for once… but that would spoil things. I will keep this to myself until the right moment.

"Holmes, I think you are mistaken. Now are you sure you did not consume any confounded drugs?"

"I can assure you that I have not been near narcotics!" He squeaked out this last part of his statement, jolting my heart into action faster than even how I imagined Silver Blaze would have gone after he killed John Straker.

"Alright Holmes," I manage to gasp out, over the thumping of my heart. I'll take your word for it, but you are certainly acting strange. Well, stranger than strange, anyhow."

"Now- look at his foot."

"No, I will not. I see no reason to."

"Wat _son_." he whined, with all the petulance of a badly behaved three year old. He stamped his feet before he next spoke. "Just _look_ already. Oh, and observe while you are it." He added, in a too- helpful sounding tone. I felt that he was just trying to be annoying.

I knew full well by now what my options were; either look at the painting, or grasp Holmes' neck and strangle the blasted man to death.

As tempting as the latter was, I decided for the thousandth time since our acquaintance had begun to give in to another one of his childish and ridiculous demands. This time, it was to look at a painting I had bought from an antique shop.

Very slowly, I turn my head from the glaring detective and affix my eyes on the painting. What I saw next made my eyes widen and my heart to beat faster than before.

"Why, he has no left foot!"

"Bravo Watson. I had hoped that my efforts to teach you the art of deduction would not be a waste of my time." He drawled, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

Red hot anger quickly enflamed within me upon the remark reaching my ears. However, as was my custom, I quelled my anger, so as not to give myself the death sentence on charge of taking another's life. And by another, I mean only one man, whose initials are S.H… 

Holmes suddenly snatched the painting out of my grasp.

"My dear boy, we have a case on our hands. Come!" He exclaimed, grabbing his hat and cane, as well as his jacket.

I only had time to set the painting down on the table before an iron grip seizes my wrist and drags me down the stairs and out of the front door.

"Come on then Watson, old fellow, the Adventure of the Sergeant's left foot begins!"

I was beginning to wonder if I would feel guilty about sending my poor unfortunate friend to Bedlam.

A/N: Well, there you have it! I hope you like this chapter, cos I'm not. But, it's better than the original idea anyhow. So, thanks for reading. Reviews appreciated!

Disclaimer: I should stop forgetting, but Holmes and Watson do not belong to me. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only borrow them to put into any bizarre scenarios my brain comes up with.


	9. Chapter 9

Prompt: Lestrade ponders what to buy Gregson

By: Wordwielder

Inspector Lestrade hated Christmas shopping. He hated how the shops were so busy (and not to mention the increase of crime thanks to people stealing from shop owners.) He hated having to push past throngs of people who were milling about the place pondering over what to give their loved ones. He especially hated the fact that he was the type of person who bought presents last minute for those he cared about.

This year, however, he had managed to get a lot of his friends presents. For his wife, he bought her an exquisite pearl necklace. For Doctor Watson, a new writing set and two new notebooks- one blue, one red. They both had leather covers and had very fine paper sandwiched between. And for the arrogant genius known as Sherlock Holmes- a new magnifying glass, as well as some rosin for his beloved violin.

He gave the Baker Street Irregulars a crown each, for their helpful services, so that they could get what they wanted. And for Hopkins, a new silver tie pin. It was nothing too fancy-well, nothing compared to Holmes' emerald tie pin anyway- but it was a very nice tie pin. He even got him a new red and blue tie to match, as he had accidently ruined Hopkins' favourite tie when he borrowed it for a dinner party. The good inspector cringed at the memory. Poor Hopkins was not happy with him, so Lestrade promised him a new tie. He finally could pay off _that_ debt- and had even got him a fine looking tie pin to match.

But one question remained; what to buy for Inspector Gregson? Poor Lestrade had dreaded buying him a present, as he had no idea to give the man.

"Is something the matter, dear?"

Lestrade snapped out of his present dilemma and focused instead on his wife. Concern was etched on every facial expression his eyes could see Observe Holmes voice corrected in his head. But he shook it off.

"I'm fine my sweet dove. It's just that I have no idea what to get for Inspector Gregson."

Mrs Lestrade arranged her expression to one of thought. In a way, she reminded him of Holmes in this situation, but fortunately, he knew better than to say that out loud.

"Well, you did complain to me the other day that he was always late…"

"Go on." her husband prompted.

"So why not get him a pocket watch?"

He pondered this for a moment. Well, that seemed a good idea- why not? He had chastised Gregson often enough for tardiness, and he knew a good watchmaker who had a shop not far from where they were. It was the same place he got his pocket watch and it never broke in his care. He turned to his wife.

"Helen that is an excellent idea! I shall go at once."

And so, he tore down the street, his scarf flying behind him, leaving a bewildered Helen Lestrade in his wake.

A/N Well here you go! The 9th of December! Do you think Lestrade will succeed in his quest? Or will he have to resort to drastic measures?

More updates to come today, as I don't have much to do. Plus, I'm on fire with ideas!

Reviews welcomed!

Silvermouse :D 


	10. Chapter 10

Prompt: Zoo

By: Stutley Constable

Of course, I should have known better than to trust myself that that my friend Holmes would behave himself when it came to outings, especially since I had made the decision to visit the zoo for the day, and take Holmes that day. I shudder as I remember the conversation we had that morning.

" _Watson, I'm bored."_

" _Well you know well enough that I am not your personal jester Holmes, so I suggest that you go outside for a change."_

 _Since when would that benefit me?_

 _It could stimulate your mind I suggested_

" _Pah! Just because outings stimulate your mind doesn't mean they'll bring the same stimulation for my mind. My mind needs cases – it rebels against-"_

" _Stagnation I know." I growled. Would he ever just do something relatively calm and normal for once?_

 _With a sigh, I pick up the newspaper and begin to skim through the headlines, trying to find something that would appease my companion's boredom._

" _What are you doing?"_

" _Trying to find you something to do and ignoring you, neither of which are working." I snap, finally giving up on the newspaper_

 _Holmes just glared and began muttering curses under his breath as he spread himself on top of his armchair in a dramatic pose._

 _Just then, our dog, Toby, came wandering in from the kitchen. He whined at Holmes._

" _Don't bother with him Toby, he's being grumpy again."_

 _In spite of this, however, he reached out and gently stroked the dog's soft ears._

" _Hm. Why can't humans provide as much pleasant company Watson? Unlike humans, animals seem to revel in affection like Toby here, which makes for beneficial companionship."_

 _I grinned as I thought of an idea._

" _Well Holmes, I suppose it's too bad you wouldn't know about animals. It's not like you can visit the zoo to find out any of this."_

 _I chuckled at the idea, before reaching out for my pipe._

" _Tarry a moment, Watson!"  
_

_I paused, my hand hovering just over where my pipe was sitting._

" _Grab your coat, we are going out."  
_

" _Well, where to my dear friend?"_

" _Why, to the zoo, my good doctor."_

…

It is at this point that I regret letting out Holmes. He was wilder a beast than any that could inhabit the zoo.

For Holmes had separated himself from me half an hour into our visit, and by the time he had been found, birds were flying over the people who were screaming an evacuating the premises, the reptiles kept themselves out of reach and even the hippopotamus had escaped!

As I searched frantically for the man responsible, I spotted a tall, thin young man with black curly hair about to open a cage containing snakes- to be specific, rattlesnakes.

"Holmes, don't release the snakes!" I cry, running as fast as I was able to try and stop him.

"Ah, hello Watson," he said cheerfully as if none of the chaos which engulfed the zoo of London were of any concern to him. But, as this is Sherlock Holmes I am talking about, he definitely wouldn't care less.

"Please tell me that that cage is still locked, Holmes." I gasped, my hands tightening around my cane.

"What- with this?" he remarked innocently, holding a lock in his sinewy hands.

"You idiot! Now all of the snakes will escape."

"Err, Watson…" he whispered, pointing at my leg. 

I am ashamed to admit that I let out a rather un- manly shriek when I noticed that a now escaped rattle snake had coiled itself round my good leg.

Presently, a man who I recognized as working in the zoo- alongside the animals i.e. feeding and training them- had to grab bait and tempt the snake to come and eat something, in order to lure it from me. It gave in, and slowly unwound itself from my leg and slithered towards its dinner.

Presently, the man looked at me. His face showed a hint of concern.

"Are you alright sir?" 

"Yes he'll be fine my good man." Holmes burst out quickly. "And now if you will excuse us…"

He quickly steered me away. But not before the manager, a tall, fairly stout gentleman who resembled a grizzly bear had us by the ears.

"Which of you were responsible for this?" He yelled, raising his fist and allowing it to collide into the desk like a hammer thumping a nail into the ground.

Holmes stood up straight. He looked tall, powerful dignified, like a soldier. It was one of those moments that I felt a deep respect for my friend.

"It was me."

He spoke it, in a calm, stoical manner. There was no trace of fear to be observed upon him anywhere.

It was at that moment that I felt bad for allowing my beloved friend to take all the blame. I might not have been responsible for allowing the animals to escape the cages and terrorising the people of London. However, I was responsible for not keeping the city's biggest beast under control- or in the cage of the regulations of society.

"I too bear some responsibility." I say. "I had neglected to tell him from…"

"SILENCE!" He boomed, thumping his desk again. You, sir, are banned from the zoo!" His fat, sausage like finger was pointing at Holmes

"Suit yourself. I never liked zoos anyway." He began to stride away, but stopped. "Oh, I forgot to mention, judging by the state of your suit, your wife has recently decided that she would fancy a turn on committing adultery."

The man in question could only stare, the expression on his face reminding me of a dying fish, whilst his mouth opened and closed continuously. He shook his head dazedly, and then managed to find the words he needed.

"HOW DARE YOU SIR! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN WRING IN YOUR NECK!"

"And that's my standing ovation." My friend remarked dryly- before grabbing my sleeve and speeding away from the manager as fast as the both of us would go, whilst the manager just cursed us both for having decided to come here. He also shouted that we were forbidden to come back under any circumstances.

…

Unfortunately Mrs Hudson had heard about the incident, and was so furious; she made us do without supper.

"It serves you right!" She sniffed. Whatever were you thinking Holmes? Terrorising the people of London in such a manner! I hope you have learnt your lesson!"

The door slamming signalled her exit.

"Well Holmes, you've proved one thing today."

"And what is that, my dear Watson?"

"That not all animals are capable of affection."

"That is true. Well, from now on, I will stick to Toby's affections from now on. Don't you think so Watson?"

"So long as there are no snakes involved, I'm happy." I sigh.

I should have known not to say it that way when I found a lion growling at me in our flat the next day.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed reading it! Reviews welcomed! ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Prompt: Fairies

By: Domina Temporis

I stood back to admire the hard work that Mes Hudson and I had put into the tree. It was tall, magnificent and green. Together the two of us had placed red and gold ornaments upon the branches, which even now were swaying gently as we brushed past. Candles had also been placed in the tree with strict warnings from the good lady that we had to be careful. I wished Holmes could have joined us, but he was out on a case.

"I'm sorry you had to get stuck here, Doctor" Mrs Hudson apologised.

"It's quite alright," I assured her. "I'm sure this accursed shoulder and my leg for that matter would stop hurting. I think we're done here."

"Not yet Doctor!" And Mrs Hudson flitted out of the living room.

I paused, wondering what she could possibly be getting.

She returned a few minutes later, carrying a box in her hands.

I moved towards her, ready to offer my services, but she declined.

"I'm fine Doctor! It's not heavy!" 

My mind returned to the question of what on earth she had found.

It was soon answered when she opened it and lifted out a… fairy?

The body, legs, and arms were made from twigs and the head was a pinecone, with bird's feathers for wings, had hair made from twine and wore dress of old fabric with flowers embroidered upon it.

"Well, what do you think then?" She asked me.

"It's… very unusual." I reply, with an air of uncertainty.

"I agree. Though, it was one of few decorations I used when I was a wee girl. I do have others in here."

And with that, she pulled them out carefully. They all mysteriously were in a good condition.

"What my mam sisters and I did was go to the woods near our cottage and pick up the twigs, feathers and pine cones. The rest we scavenged from around the house."

There were six in all, and Mrs Hudson wanted nothing more than to use them. I felt sure Holmes wouldn't mind. He was fond of our dear landlady, and so I felt confident that they would be allowed.

"Where are we going to put them?" I ask her.

Mrs Hudson froze." I… I'm not sure." She admitted. "The tree is out of the question." She added, in a more serious tone.

"So is the mantel." I point out.

We racked our brains, until…

"I know Doctor! Why not hang them from the ceiling?"

"That sounds like a good idea." I confess.

We had to scrounge the flat for some string of any kind to hang them up. But there was not much suitable. So in the end, I decided that we should use twine. Once Mrs Hudson retrieved it from the kitchen we set to work.

Nearly an hour later, the window had six fairies hanging above it.

"Thank you so much Doctor Watson- the flat looks wonderful!"

"Yes indeed -and thank you for telling me about the fairies."

She just smiled.

"That's alright." She said. "Now, I just baked some cookies. Would you like one?"

"I was wondering what the delicious smell was!" I chuckle wholeheartedly and Mrs Hudson laughed too. "Yes please."

"Follow me please!" She ordered, shooing me to her flat.

…

Holmes, along with Toby and the Baker Street Irregulars returned at the back of three.

"Hello!" I greeted.

"Hullo Doc!" chorused the Irregulars.

"Hello Watson." replied Holmes. My word, you two have been busy. Now what is this?

This last question was directed at the fairies hanging above the window. The Irregulars stared at them with a sense of awe. 

"They belong to Mrs Hudson." I inform them. "She got them out to decorate the flat, and after some discussion, we decided the window would suit them nicely."

Holmes nodded.

Mrs Hudson came round with the cookies. All the Irregulars took one with utmost politeness and I got an extra one as well, but of course we didn't mention this!

All throughout the season those who came to the flat always had something to say about the fairies… and it was usually a good thing!

A/N: Chapter 12 to come soon. Oh and for those who celebrate this joyous occasion- Merry Christmas!


	12. Chapter 12

Prompt: Someone gets mugged

By: cjnwriter

Henry Ducksworth scuttled through the cold dark streets of London. His ominous pocket watch informed him that it was nearing the hour and minute of exactly quarter past 11. Oh no. He was late. Again. His wife Sarah would not be happy about this if he turned up now. He dreaded to think how she would punish him. Would he get no dinner? Would he be forced to sleep on the sofa? Or would he be locked out.

Ducksworth, whilst never a stickler for punctuality, was a man blessed with the divine gifts of honesty, loyalty and intelligence. However, he was also a man of a nervous disposition, never willing to toe the line, so to speak. He was a wonderful father to his daughter Margaret.

Regardless of these flaws, the owner of the Bank of England had entrusted Ducksworth with a priceless item- a scarlet locket. It was an old but lovely thing, embellished with pink and white rosebuds. The locket itself hung from an old burnished gold chain, fastened with a clasp, which was a bit temperamental (not that he wanted to wear it anyhow!).

He had been entrusted to look after it, because he was good with keeping valuables, and honest enough to give them back. An example of this was when his employer wanted him to keep a hold of a diamond and pearl necklace, an antique sapphire ring, a diamond brooch, and a ruby tie pin until he needed them. He took the necklace and brooch back after three days, as they were for his wife on their anniversary, the tie pin claimed back as it was for the banker's brother, and the ring was to be stored in a vault, but had to wait whilst the necessary arrangements were made. All of these items were returned in pristine condion, and all of them were returned.

So whilst the banker was on holiday in France, Ducksworth had been left to watch over the locket. He didn't mind. But Sarah was unhappy with him bringing home valuable and priceless objects home as she was worried about thefts and even muggings taking place. Of course, he was very cautious, making a cross over his heart and offering a quick prayer as he left.

And here he was. Stuck in the middle of the freezing cold, and still another ten or so minutes to go before he could collapse with relief. However, he was unaware of what was to come.

When it happened, he was just outside the Diogenes club. He had paused to check if the locket was safe in its matchbox and also to check the time. 

Before he knew it, a strike to the jaw with an- elbow? - Had him sprawled upon the ground.

"Wh…who goes Th… there?" He demanded. "I have a revolver. Now show yourself or I will shoot!"

A sock in his right eye answered him.

In a blind flash, Ducksworth struggled to sit up in order to try and find help. But the attacker had other ideas. He was pinned to the ground by a bulky black boot, the pressure on his chest escalating as his ribs began to cave in slowly.

Then, a voice whispered, "Where is it?"

"Where is…what?" the poor man rasped.

"You know when you see it."

Poor Ducksworth was shaking violently and his perspiration began to flow like waterfalls down his forehead, teasing the back of his neck.

He could recall no more.

The next morning, he awoke to come across himself in a chair, sitting opposite a desk bursting with papers, and a balding man trying to sort them out.

"Good morning sir!" called Ducksworth his voice withering slightly. "Who are you and where am I?"

The man turned his chair to face him.

"Good morning Mr. Ducksworth. My name is Mycroft Holmes and you are in the Diogenes Club. You are quite safe now."

But Ducksworth gaped. How did the man know his name? The two hadn't met until now! All he could remember was walking home to be with his wife and daughter and then…

Wait! The locket!

He knew that it was his duty to check if it was safe.

His hand plunged into his right waistcoat pocket and scavenged around.

All he found was a piece of paper with writing scrawled on it. A note.

It read;

 _Dear Henry Victor Ducksworth,_

 _Thank you for the lovely present you so kindly gave me last night. It is true what they say; a rose is very blinding to the human eye. My collection is now complete._

 _Yours truly,_

 _R. Q_

 _P.S It suits me very well, so I'm not letting go of it without a fight._

A/N: Quite proud of this one. Let me know what you think, as I'm not used to writing mysteries at the moment!

Silvermouse :D


	13. Chapter 13

Prompt: A character from mythology shows up at Baker Street seeking Holmes' services

By: ShewhoScrawls

"Well Holmes," I remark dryly, collapsing on an armchair. "I hope you have enough money in your wallet, as there is no doubt that Mrs Hudson will raise the rent."

"Not my fault." Holmes sulked. He went to stand beside my chair, stinking of rotten onions and covered in purple goo.

"Could you not have-"but I was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Aha- a client!"

"How can you possibly tell that's a client?"

"Well, who would people travel here to see?"

" I do have friends Holmes."

"So are you saying I am a friendless loner, my dear boy?"

"Ummm…" I began to fidget in my chair.

The door was thrown open and a tall, bearded man walked slowly and purposely into the room.

"Good day," said the gentleman. "I am Hades, Lord of the Underworld."

"And I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective." Replied my friend.

"Ah! Then you are the man I seek." He boomed.

"Please, take a seat." The sleuth indicated my armchair.

"Err, thank you for the offer, but that gentleman-"

"Will now move." Holmes finished "Shoo Watson!" He added, swatting at me as if I was a fly.

I got off, annoyed. He could have at _least_ said please.

"Now I believe you are tracing someone?"

Hades looked startled. "Now just how did you-"

"Observation and deduction, my good man. Or god."

Hades, now on my chair, leaned forward slightly, with an odd expression of marvel and awe.

The look on my dear friend's face changed instantly to one of unease.

"Why are you staring?"

"Why, you are no mortal at all! You can see things I cannot! Why do you not live on Olympus?"

"Because he'll only cause chaos." I sigh. "He released the animals of London Zoo once."

"It was an experiment, Watson!"

But our odd guest just grinned. "You might have been related to Bacchus."

"I suppose that would be more appropriate for him then being related to Mycroft." I added, nodding.

"My brother." Holmes intervened, to save the almighty god a spot of confusion. "Now, for your case?"

"Oh yes, of course. You see, a dangerous criminal, Oblivio Belscrook, disappeared form the Underworld and has melted into London's streets and people."

I was greatly alarmed to hear such hear such disturbing news.

"You mean we are-"

"Hunting a ghost? It would seem so, yes."

"He is dangerous because he is a magician- and also a murderer. I think he is going to materialise a dead body and-"

"Murder innocent people!?" I cry. "Holmes, you must do something!"

"Would you calm down old man? I am doing something!" He turned to Hades.

"My good sir, I shall gladly take your case."

"Thank you. I will come at the right moment to send him away." He walked to the door, but then turned around.

"Oh, and um, could you also be kind enough to look for Cerberus, my dog? He ran off when I took him for a walk this morning."

I was marvelled. An ancient Greek deity led a similar life to us? Perhaps mortals and immortals can be friends after all.

"Alright then." Holmes conceded.

He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye.

"Come, Watson. The game is afoot!"

"Good luck!" Hades called as we grabbed our hats and canes and then dashed downstairs.

£Thank you very much!" I yell back.

As we flew past her, Mrs Hudson just sighed and then called up to her tenants' newest client.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Hades?"

"That would be welcoming, thank you!" He boomed in reply.

The kindly landlady grinned, and trooped off to her flat.

The front door slammed shut.


	14. Chapter 14

Prompt: Holmes has a conversation with Watson using only his violin to 'speak'

By: TemporarilyAbaft

At last, I managed to drag my feet through the front door of 221B and collapsed against the wall. I had thought that I would never get home, never mind get through the last of my rounds!

I felt fairly out of breath, so I set down my Gladstone bag and was about to remove my hat when Mrs Hudson opened the door of her own flat.

"Hello Doctor Watson!" She exclaimed cheerily." How were your rounds?"

I pulled a face. "Torture." I huffed. "None of my patients were in a good mood today and now, I'm not."

"Oh dear," she patted my good shoulder gently. "Well then I'm afraid you may not like the news that I have yet to tell you."

"If it is about Holmes or a patient, then I am going to reconsider Stamford's invitation to the club." I shudder. I wish I had decided to go after all.

"Actually, it's both of those, Doctor."

The very thought of Holmes being left alone with one of my patients was enough for me to begin running for the stairs- but a firm grip had fixated itself on my sleeve.

"Mr Holmes is the patient." She affirmed.

All I wanted to do at this point was die. Or at least allow the floor to open up and swallow me.

…

I dragged myself up the stairs, ready to see what Holmes had done to himself this time.

The detective was sprawled across his armchair, wielding his precious Stradivarius under his chin.

"Hello Holmes." I slowly began to exhale a breath that I hadn't even realised I was holding.

Instead of replying, Holmes played a few notes his violin. They sounded full of hurt and anger.

My hand automatically began to massage my temple. I did _not_ need this. I did _not_.

"Holmes, why are you not speaking to me?" I ask, in a voice that remained calm, even and almost emotionless, like my friend on a day to day basis. In a rare flash of desperation, I racked my brains, trying to remember whether or not I had offended him.

I could not think of such an occurrence. So I decided to calm down and try a different approach.

"Come on old fellow," I coax, "Whatever is the matter?"

The younger man paused, before playing a calm piece on his violin. Then, just as I was about to enquire on what had happened, he just gave me a deathly stare- before bursting into a dramatic piece. I could not recognise the music, so I concluded that he was improvising.

He finished, and then pointed the bow at me, and gave me a look which suggested ' _You know my_ _methods. Apply them._ '

I got down on my knees and studied him carefully. I noticed that his left trouser leg had cut itself open. For a moment, I wondered if Holmes had deliberately brought this fate upon his poor trousers, but that was dismissed when I saw his knee.

It was red and sore looking. I looked at his hands next. They were red also. I immediately realised that his knee and hands had come down with carpet burn.

And lastly, I decided to check Holmes tongue. On inspection, I noticed that his tongue was bleeding. He had probably bitten it. It looked nasty, and probably painful as well. Thankfully, that shouldn't take long to heal.

I sighed in relief, and patted Holmes knee. "You're alright old fellow. A bit wounded I can safely say- but you'll recover."

He managed a rather quivery smile at me.

"And you got all this from falling down the stairs?" I asked disbelievingly.

He played a brief note and then nodded slightly.

"Aw, you daft neep." I tell him. Slowly I reached forwards and pulled him into an embrace, rubbing his back soothingly with one hand and stroke his unruly hair with the other.

Once we separate, I decide to question him on a trivial but important matter.

"Holmes, have you eaten anything recently?"

In response, Holmes played me a short but very violent and hostile solo on his prized Stradivarius.

"Alright then I'll drop it."

I stood up and patted his shoulder, then made my way to my armchair to read for a while, when my friend played me a quick burst of polka music.

"Yes Holmes, you are the biggest idiot I ever met. No doubt about that."

I smiled fondly at my beloved friend, who played a couple more notes.

"But I still love you."

The detective gave me a rare smile, and began to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

Okay. I have heard that polka originated in the mid-19th century, so it should fit here somehow. Maybe. Also, the neep part was intended, as it is a term used by my parents to refer to me and my siblings as such whenever we did something like what Holmes did. I am Scottish, so hence the spelling. And also why Watson uses it. I just thought that would be adorable. I hope you enjoyed! Reviews loved and appreciated as always!


	15. Chapter 15

Prompt: Mycroft running

By: cjnwriter

Watson was staring out of the window of 221B, admiring how the snow swirled around Baker Street. With a sigh he leaned against the window, the glass a smooth hand against his brow. His mouth slowly quirked upwards into a warm smile as he thought that it was indeed getting closer to Christmas.

"Ah, good evening Watson."

The good doctor jumped, unfortunately bumping his head against the window pane.

Sherlock Holmes winced as his friend slowly rubbed his forehead, but he said nothing.

"Hello Holmes." The doctor replied, slowly taking his hand from his temple.

"See anything interesting?"

"Not at the moment." And with that Watson settled in his chair and gazed out of the window once more.

Only to find a stout gentleman outside. He was running at a comical stance and pace, looking like a duck- or a penguin.

Holmes saw his friend's mouth drop open in shock, and his eyes widen, so he quickly trained his sharp, eagle like eyes upon the gentleman.

"Oh Good Lord." He moaned.

"What old friend?"

"That, old chap, is Mycroft running down our street- if you could call that running." He added. For the millionth time, Holmes wondered how they came to be related.

"Indeed. Where is he going?"

"Hm. Well. This is his biggest game of the year. I think we shall be nice and give him a hand."

"Well, if you say so, Holmes."

"Excellent! Let us go at once."

The two men grabbed their coats and ran out of Baker Street. Only the steps leading down to the street were very icy, and the neighbours later mentioned that they heard a loud crash and a lot of swearing. They were lucky that Lestrade didn't hear them or else he would have mistaken them for being drunk and thrown in a cell.

Meanwhile, Mycroft, the head of the British Government and older brother to the legendary and awesome detective, had reached a small stall about 5 miles from Baker Street.

A plump, middle aged woman who was running the stall smiled sweetly at the man who was currently out of breath. Man he needed to lose weight. A lot of it. How did he keep up with Sherlock, the singular most energetic man he ever knew?

"What cin I get ye love?" she asked, asked I warm and cheerful tone

"Just… just the us... usual please." He panted.

"Well here ye go love." she replied handing him six mince pies.

Thank you kindly. Mycroft's hand snaked into his pocket for some money to give her. But he couldn't find it.

"Erm excuse me a moment." And with all that said, he savagely tore at his pockets, trying to find his wallet. The search was unsuccessful.

Suddenly he remembered. He had taken his wallet out when he was at his brother's flat! He must have forgotten it!

Now he couldn't eat his mince pies. And the smell radiating off them was so warm and so divine, he wanted to just scoff them, like he usually did.

But sadly, not this year. 

After all that running too! He felt like a dunce.

Suddenly someone collided into him and bot him and the person who collided into his back both toppled to the ground.

…

Mycroft could see stars. But they were the kind in the sky, not the kind that people might experience after a head trauma.

Suddenly he heard a voice wheeze from underneath.

"Mycroft, the one thing I swore I would forget when I reached adolescence was how you would –oof!-sit on me."

The elder Holmes grinned. One thing he enjoyed doing to Sherlock when they were young lads was sit on him. This was quite effective as it made Sherlock behave for a while. And his little brother hated being sat on.

"I apologise Sherlock."

"Your statement contradicts your true feelings brother _dear._ " The younger man growled. "Now get off me you marshmallow!"

That command was reluctantly obeyed. Mycroft felt like sitting on his brother again, for the insult of being called a marshmallow, and also for following him.

"By Jove- Holmes are you alright?"

"No. He sat on me." The detective pouted.

"That is an utter lie, my dear brother. You collided into me and then I fell on top of you. It is as simple as that."

"I should get Lestrade to arrest you for abusing your innocent little brother."

But the British Government just snorted. Even the good doctor was smiling.

"Not a chance Sherlock."

"Yes Holmes." crowed Watson I doubt the Inspector would arrest the head of the government of Great Britain."

Holmes the younger just fixed Watson with a death stare, which stiffened the poor man's nerves, and then he turned to Mycroft.

"Here is your wallet back."

Mycroft was shocked. HE had no idea why Sherlock had his wallet but he was glad to have it back, regardless.

"Oh and brother mine, I think your memory is failing you." Sherlock teased. You didn't lose your wallet- I stole it before you left 221B."

Well, not quite regardless.

"What? You are a nuisance"

"So? You still love me"

"I question that sometimes." Grumbled the elder brother. "And now do excuse me." he said, as a means of an apology. He fished out twelve shillings and paid her at last for the mince pies, even though they were now on the ground. The woman, Rose, took pity on him and gave him a fresh batch of six.

With a sincere thank you, Mycroft proceeded to move away so as to head home.

But a piece of paper fell out of his wallet.

Puzzled for once in his entire life since Sherlock was born, he stooped and held it deftly between his fingers.

It was obviously a note. Mycroft scoffed. Not much use to anyone.

Still…

He unfolded it and read it over carefully

 _Dearest Mycroft,_

 _If you are reading this, then you would have got your wallet back from me. I know caring is not an advantage, but you have been a great older brother to me, even if I am horrible to you. You and I both know that I am not the easiest man to get along with, let alone love. So from the bottom of my heart, I thank you my dearest brother for being there when I needed you. And for loving me as your little brother._

 _Love from Sherlock._

Mycroft was able to deduce that Sherlock had been torn between being formal or more personal with the last sentence, due to the fact that it was not quite as tidy as the rest of the note. But he found it difficult to hold back tears.

"Sherlock."

"Yes Mycroft?"

"The answer is yes-always."

Holmes the younger felt tears arise and the two brothers were soon drawn into the other's embrace.

Even though the Holmes brothers were geniuses they both still had the heart of young boys- somewhere.

Eventually Mycroft offered a mince pie to Sherlock. He even gave one to Watson, who accepted willingly

Looks like running might be worth something after all.

But only a little bit.

A/N: Probably OOC and off track, but here you go! The 15th!


	16. Chapter 16

Prompt: Footprints in the snow

By: mrspencil

I cursed through the slush that currently covered the very streets of London. The hems of my trousers and my socks were soaked through, and I was still half an hour away from Baker Street. My darling wife, Mary, had urged me to go to Baker Street and see Mrs Hudson.

 _It looks like it would be a white Christmas this year my love. I smiled_

 _Mary returned the gesture, though she could observe that I was not as happy as I should be._

" _You miss him don't you?"_

 _I sighed. More than anything. Tears began to rise in my eyes, but being a former soldier, I was quick to quell them._

 _She took my hand in hers, and rubbed the back with her thumb._

 _John, you should go to Baker Street. See Mrs Hudson. She suggested._

" _But... what about you? You haven't been well of late." I remind her._

" _I'll live, John. It's nothing, I'm sure. Now go. See Mrs Hudson. Speak to her. Be there for her. Just, don't leave to fight alone, please?"_

 _I smile softly. Mary had a point. My dear former landlady would definitely be in need of company, especially since the tenant she had grown to love like her own son now lay dead at the Reichenbach Falls as we spoke._

 _Shaking myself from those memories, I turn to my beloved wife and kiss her cheek._

" _Goodbye darling."_

" _Goodbye, my dearest John."_

 _I grabbed my coat, hat and cane, and stuck my feet into my clumsy new loafers._

I had walked since then and my wounds played up not long after my departure from Kensington. And so it was at this point that I made my way to Baker Street.

Now, it was here when I saw something peculiar. A pair of footprints, forming a trail which was parallel to my own prints.

The peculiar thing of it all, was that I swore that the prints looked exactly like Holmes.

Excitement had by now, decided to continue following the prints. I continued to follow the prints at the same pace as before, but a bit slower this time around.

I had not walked for more than five minutes when, up ahead, I saw a figure. He was too far away to see, but aside from myself, he was the only person there.

Now you see it appeared that I myself was asking for something impossible, but I really ... and here I go again. I must learn to stop rambling on so.

And so, as it happens, I, in a mad fit of excitement chased the fellow down the street

"HOLMES!" I yell, not caring that I was in public. It's me Watson! Oh Holmes I missed you so_

I stopped dead on seeing his face.

It wasn't Holmes at all.

It was a harmless old man, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and anger.

I gasped." Oh, I am so sorry sir! I mistook you for my friend."

The elderly man just wheezed. "So grief it may be?"

"Yes indeed." I felt tears prick at the corner of my eyes. How could I have been such an idiot so as to mistake an old man for Holmes?

"No harms been done, so I'll let you be on your way then." said he, patting my shoulder in an amiable manner.

I smiled. "Thank you, my good sir."

"No thanks needed. Now go." He relied, pointing me to the direction of Baker Steet.

I did, for I was beginning to run late. To this very day, I still wonder how he knew I was in grief and more importantly, where I was going.

At last, I reached the street where my famous friend had once lived upon, breathed upon and walked upon. I knocked on the door of 221B. I began to shift my weight from foot to foot, and alternated looking at my feet and the front door.

Presently, I heard a click, and then a familiar voice.

"Good afternoon Doctor Watson!"

"Good afternoon Mrs Hudson." I reply, somewhat tentatively.

"Come in, then, Doctor. I'll put on the kettle and bring you some tea and some freshly baked scones."

"Thank you Mrs Hudson. Would you care to join me?" I asked, politely, knowing that she might be busy.

She agreed to put her jobs aside and have some tea and scones as well.

We conversed about various topics, but Holmes was spoken of briefly, to avoid aggravating our grievances further.

I never mentioned a word of the man to Mrs Hudson. Why bother? Even the kindly landlady might think I was going mad with grief.

When I was a lad, one of the earliest lessons I learned was to never get your hopes up.

I had forgotten that lesson today. And now, the one wish I have for Christmas will never come true.

Sherlock Holmes was dead, at the bottom of the cold, unforgiving Falls. I had since hated the place, as I had been robbed of my dearest friend. I will never see him again.

A/N: Well, my first fic surrounding Reichenbach. Hope you liked it. Reviews and positive critism appreciated!


	17. Chapter 17

Prompt: Watson swears. A lot

By: Catherine Sparks

"Watson, you swear far too much."

"And since when is it your business to know whether or not I have been swearing? Besides, there is no need to get the soap out my dear fellow." I reply, wondering where Holmes had thought of such a thing. I looked at the detective from where I was sitting in front of the armchair in front of the fire.

"Not that swearing Watson!" My friend groaned, no doubt cursing my idiocy. "I mean, you swore oaths to several people recently in order to help them. For example, you swore to Mrs Hudson that you would persuade me to eat something. Then you swore to Mary, telling her that you would be there for her as her closest friend is ill, and facing hard times, who also swore to try and heal, and also, perhaps, help her with getting back on her feet alongside your wife. And then when Anstruther fell ill, you swore to look after his patients. These oaths can last more than a few mere hours, old fellow."

"I'm aware of that, old chap." I let out a big yawn. "I intend to keep those oaths and I swear to serve and honour them until my deathbed."

"As I have said earlier, Watson, you swear too much. "

I just chuckle sleepily as Morpheus at last claimed me for his own, the notes of Holmes' Stradivarius having summoned him here.

A/N: Seeing as the type of swearing was never specified, I decided to go with the oath version, as I do not believe in cursing. I do read it, and I don't kick up a fuss, I just don't like writing it a lot or speaking it either.


	18. Chapter 18

Prompt: Delicate work

By: KnightFury

"Watson! I need help!" A voice wailed.

I groaned inwardly. What _on earth_ had Holmes done now?

I hastily threw on my dressing gown and ran downstairs as fast as my legs would carry me.

I threw open the door of the living room- and was soon guffawing when I assessed the situation.

Poor Holmes had somehow ended up with about half the wrapping paper on himself, rather than on Mrs Hudson's present.

"Holmes, how hard is it to wrap a bottle of perfume and some soaps?"

"Well, I am not used to wrapping presents Watson!"

"I can see that." I chuckle. "Oh well. Looks like Mycroft's present is sorted then."

"And what is that?"

"A chance to have you at his house for Christmas!

"No!" Holmes shrieked "don't be so cruel old man!"

"Holmes would you relax?" I asked him, stifling giggles. "You are not going anywhere. I was just teasing."

My friend just pouted.

I smiled in return. "Very well then. I will fetch the jack knife."

Sometime later, Holmes was freed from the wrapping paper.

"Well my dear friend, that looks like your career as applying wrapping paper officially 'wrapped up' shall we say?"

"Not even funny, Watson." He snapped. His eyes harboured a storm of hurt.

In the end, I took pity on him, and decided to drop with the teasing. He had tried hard, after all, to do something nice. I could give him that.

"You made an attempt, at least." I said, in sympathy. "Wrapping presents aren't easy, you know. Why, I had trouble with them myself."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I remember I had a present for my mother and father. I got father a tin of mints and my mother a book that was the same size as the present on approximation. Some days earlier, I had learned the art of wrapping presents, and I was so excited to be doing this at long last, that I became distracted and wrapped up my father's present in floral wrapping paper and my mother' s in blue. I'm sure you can guess what happened next."

"They received the wrong presents?"

"Yes."

He cackled with merriment over hearing this.

"The situation was amended eventually, but I learned one thing Holmes."

"What's that?" He enquired.

"That wrapping presents is delicate work, as there are so many ways something can go wrong."

I beamed.

"Now come on Holmes." I say, kindly, "how about I teach you the Watson Way of wrapping presents?

My dear friend nodded in the affirmative.

"Very well then. Let us get started then!"

As it turned out, a lot of wrapping paper and even more patience was needed, but the great detective had mastered yet another art by evening.

And when Mrs Hudson received her present, she thought I was the one who wrapped it! When she heard it was Holmes who had wrapped it, she commented that he should be paid to wrap presents in department stores.

She had to go find some smelling salts whilst I grabbed his feet and placed them on an armchair for a while, in order to let the blood flow back into his brain.

He was just lucky that wrapping presents wasn't the only delicate work I did.


	19. Chapter 19

Prompt: Under the sofa

By: Emma Lynch

...

"Well, Watson, I am very vexed."

"How so, Holmes?" I query curiously, but only receive a growl for a response.

"The victim- Millicent- she is missing something."

"Like what?"

"Her wedding ring you blind twit!" He snapped, suddenly. "I don't know if you've noticed, Doctor, but that was the last straw- you're just being a hindrance! Now go away! I am _working."_

Hurt, I trooped over to the sofa. Holmes and I were investigating a murder of a woman Millicent Whites, a middle aged woman found with a dagger in her heart and an ear slashed. It was quite gruesome to behold. But what was worse was that I was quickly to be found in Holmes' disfavour, as he believed me to be of little use in the case, due to the fact that I repeatedly got in the way of my brilliant friend.

I was scrawling down notes in my new red notebook which Lestrade had given to me at Christmas. As I did so, I decided to check the time, to see if that was of any use if it were noted down on paper.

Deftly I fished in my waistcoat pocket for my old pocket watch. As I did so, however Holmes cursed loudly, giving me a small fright.

I looked at the pocket watch –only I was no longer holding it.

" _Now where did it go?"_ I muttered.

There was only one place it could have gone.

Under the sofa.

I began to moan on the impertinence of Fate, but after remembering that I was the only mortal listening, I decided that I had very little opinion or say in a world where forces bigger than Mycroft pulled the strings of human society. And so it was with that that I began the rescue operation.

Very slowly, I bent down, wincing slightly whenever my bad leg got too awkward to hold for very long without a familiar and all too dreaded throb would persist within my thigh. Soon enough, I was looking under the sofa- and, there, in its glory, I found my prized watch.

Beaming, I reached in and- after knocking it out of my reach several times, and many subsequent curses picked up in Afghanistan- I grabbed it, much to my joy and relief.

I was about to get up again, when I saw something sparkling on the ground. It was right at the back, along with a few balls of dust.

"What is that?" I wonder. Might be a clue. But there was only one way to find out. Plus my curiosity was too far out to be reigned back in.

Quickly I scramble to my feet and then moved to the side of the sofa, with the wholly intentions of moving it forward a few inches so as to grab whatever it was and hopefully, see if that would get me in Holmes' affections.

It was a ring. Silver and studded with diamonds. On the outside of the band was a dull reddish tinge. I didn't need three guesses, good luck or even Sherlock Holmes to tell me what that was.

"Watson! What are you doing?"

I jumped -the man in question was right behind me.

"Err- just rescuing my pocket watch from under the sofa." I say hoping to avoid his gaze.

But I was hoping for too much.

For, much to my alarm, the detective pounced, and had, much to my dismay, had taken the object from me.

"Holmes it isn't what it looks like!" I protest.

"Are you sure- because you've just proven me wrong on my earlier statement."

"What statement?"

"That you are a blind twit. Because now it is obvious that you are not. That would be me."

"But I found it by accident!"

"Still counts. For, my dear fellow, you have found Mrs. Whites' wedding ring!"

"I.. have?"

"Yes and thanks to you, Mr Whites shall be tried and punished!" He pulled me into a tight embrace."Watson, I owe you an apology. I am deeply sorry for doubting your abilities. Can you forgive me?"

I grin. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"So aren't we going to fetch Lestrade?"

"Correction: I'll be going alone. You stay here."

But before he left, he pulled me in for another embrace.

"Holmes what-"

I feel his lips press a soft and gentle kiss upon my forehead.

We separated, I now looking redder than my notebook.

"See you later my friend."

He bounded out of the door and away to Scotland Yard to inform Lestrade of the recent conclusions drawn. I was left all alone, wondering what Holmes had meant by that kiss. And also how he had reached the conclusion of how Mr Whites was responsible.

...  
I guess I'll leave this up for interpretation...

;)


	20. Chapter 20

Prompt: Holmes and Watson meet their gender swapped counterparts, and it all goes downhill from there.

By: Poseidon- God of the seas

Caution: Randomness ahead!

"Who are you?" A twenty six year old consulting detective asked. This particular question was asked to a female standing across the living room from him. She looked strikingly similar to the detective. Her eyes, though softer in shape, had the same steel grey glint which only sparkled on occasions of utmost rarity. They sparkled like the stars on a clear night at the sight before her.

"Why I am Sheila Holmes." she replied, in a stiff, self- righteous tone. "And this is my companion, Joan Hannah Watson."

"Well, I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my flatmate, friend _and_ companion, Doctor John Watson."

"Pleased to meet you both." Sheila answered, in the same stiff, polite tone.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson." Joan added, in a courteous manner.

"No. You gentlemen, are frauds." Sheila interrupted suddenly, fingering her revolver in her pocket.

"F...FRAUDS!" spluttered the male detective. "Why this must be a mistake- you ladies are clearly frauds. I mean your names are too coincidental right Watson?"

"Indeed, Holmes." Answered both Watsons.

"I meant John!" Sherlock wailed. "This is an unconceivable nightmare!"

"Tough, _Mr_ Sherlock Holmes- Joan and I need your help."

"Why should I, when you called us frauds for no apparent reason?"

"Well to be fair we are in need of their assistance, Sheila." Joan interceded. "You should just apologise."

"Be quiet- I am trying to negotiate with him." Sheila hissed.

"Holmes we really should-"

"Watson to spare us the confusion , call me Sherlock -and you be quiet as well!"

"But you can't just tell me to-"

Sherlock kicked John's shin, minding of the good doctor's injured leg.

"Listen Miss Holmes and Miss Watson-"

"Doctor, actually."

"Pardon?"

"I am a doctor."

"It's true." Admitted Sheila "She patched me up more times than I can count."

"So you mean to say that you two are very identical to us, save a few differences."

"Exactly. So will you help us or not?"

Sherlock sighed, not bothering to hide his reluctance. "I suppose so."

"Yes, we're going home Joan!"

"Sheila, would you _please_ be quiet- I'm talking to John."

"Fine. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a brother?"

"Yes Mycroft. I guess that means you have a-"

"Sister, yes. Maria."

"Do you smoke?" Sherlock asked, with a smug look pasted on his sharp features.

"God, Sherlock yes! We are practically the same person. Or have you not figured that out yet?"

"Are you always this snarky?"

"SHERLOCK! I WILL MURDER YOU!"

"Alright then. I'll just have to have the Watsons as witnesses"

"Joan will never condemn me to my grave! Right Joan?"

"Well to be fair, Sheila I felt close when you returned from the dead." Joan piped up. "And besides, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want a flatmate who killed a male version of herself. That would make you the Queen of Bedlam before you're within a twenty mile radius."

"Indeed." agreed John. "Also, I will definitely turn you into Lestrade."

"Now Watson that's unkind. I am very certain of the fact that she does not want to become an incompetent Inspector."

Sheila's face was completely devoid of all expression. Her breathing began to get heavier and heavier.

"Uh oh." Joan whispered.

…

Mycroft Holmes was walking along with someone similar to him. Her first name was Maria.

"And you are sure your sister is here?" He asked, gesturing in the general direction of Baker Street.

"Likely. I am smarter than her, I should know."

"Well I am smarter than my brother Sherlock." Mycroft replied "though, he has all the energy in the family."

"Same with Sheila." Chuckled Maria.

Suddenly they heard a madman screaming at the other end of the street.

"Who is that?" Maria asked.

Mycroft frowned. "Wait-that sounds like-"

Sherlock Holmes, the great detective was running as fast as his long lanky legs would carry him

"Help me, Mycroft!" he pleaded he skidded to a stop beside his elder brother and his female counterpart.

"Sherlock- who is trying to kill you?" Mycroft asked, clearly exasperated. "Because if you have so much as provoked a mob-"

"NO, IT'S NOT THE MOBS, MYCROFT! SHE'S TRYING TO KILL ME!" He screamed and bolted off again.

"Sherlock." Groaned his brother quietly. "Haven't you ever learned?"

Sheila pounded along after him.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU GET BACK HERE SO I CAN FULFILL MY PROMISE I MADE TO YOU AT BAKER STREET!"

"I'd rather you break it than break my neck! And Watson's heart!" Sherlock yelled back.

"Sheila- I told you a true lady never runs in the streets!" Maria tried to reign in her older sister.

"WELL I'M NOT A LADY, MARIA, AND SO THERE!"

"Should I be worried?" asked Mycroft, once the detectives were out of sight.

Maria just grinned, "Maybe. Sheila is a very determined young lady."

Joan and John Watson arrived, but stopped when they saw their detective's siblings gossiping on something or other. Probably the younger Holmes', if their recent escapade was anything to go by.

"Have… have they… killed… anyone yet?" panted John, before Joan even opened her mouth.

"Apart from giving us a fright, no," replied Mycroft. "Keep running John. My brother had to rely on me when girls became attracted to him. Now it is your job to stop them from killing him."

"And I guess that includes the wedding?" John replied.

Joan let off the most unladylike snigger, and had to deposit her hand on top of her mouth.

"If wedding bells ring for him at all." Mycroft remarked.

"Right come on John." Urged his female companion. "They must be nearby. I shall see you later I presume." She added, this time at Maria.

"Affirmative. Now please, for the love of all that is pure, capture the monster that threatens the people."

"Well if you mean Miss Holmes, she can't be that bad, surely." John said, lamely. He had seen Miss Sheila Holmes at the flat, but he hoped that it had just been his flatmate provoking a woman's wrath.

"I'm afraid I have enough evidence to contradict that statement Doctor." Lamented Maria, "Now go forth ladies-err, I mean Watsons!"

The doctors charged off once again, each yelling in unison.

"HOLMES!"

A/N: Yeah, not sure what this is. With apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, for making his characters have female counterparts. And whatever else I've done. But, I hope you enjoyed this!

Sheila Holmes, Joan Watson and Maria Holmes are not canon, as you know. But they are pretty much parallel to the canon characters, so I doubt I can claim them as my own, due to their traits being identical in some ways.

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews appreciated!


	21. Chapter 21

Prompt: A festive performance

By: KnightFury

Watson sat in anticipation as he watched his 'actors' on stage. A few days before, he had wanted to put on a play to help the poor and sick. Mary, his wife, helped him and their friend s were soon informed of this.

Hopkins came up with the idea to do the Christmas Carol and the others were eager to agree. Holmes was automatically cast as Scrooge, much to the amusement of the doctor. He had been afraid that Holmes would decline the opportunity. But as soon as Holmes had given the good doctor's shoulder a gentle and affirmative squeeze and a resigned nod he knew everyone was on board. He even wired an old friend, Victor Trevor, to come and help them. Watson was extremely thankful, even more so when Trevor accepted.

The scene that was currently being performed was the party, or rather, the lead up.

"Why it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"

"Yes indeed." intoned the ghost. "You see Ebenezer, there was a time when you enjoyed the festivities of the 25th of December."

Scrooge watched in wonder as Fezziwig, played by Lestrade launched into a joyful routine

"Hilli- ho! Clear away my lads and lets have lots of room here! Hilli-ho Dick! Chirrup Ebenezer!"

Watson turned to look at the audience. He hoped they enjoyed this. It was for a good cause.

Then suddenly, he saw Holmes quickly flash a wink at him, before turning back to watch Hopkins, as Young Scrooge, and Dick, played by Holmes' old friend from college, Victor Trevor, who had been more than happy to help out, once Holmes sent him a wire.

The scene had now changed to the ball. Everyone was dancing and being merry. Old Fezziwig and his wife, the latter played by Mrs Helen Lestrade, were sitting in chairs at the head of the hall.

Watson could not help but break into a large smile. His friends were doing excellent. Poor Hopkins had developed a stutter, but Lestrade had cracked it by assuring his employee there was nothing to worry about. That had improved since then.

Meanwhile, the end of Mrs Hudson's time on stage was almost nigh. He had almost missed that.

"Spirit show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?"

"One shadow more?"

"No more! No more! I don't wish to see it! Show me no more!"

But the scene had already changed Adler was on stage, with a young girl who looked like her. Scrooge's eyes widened causing Watson internal fits of laugher to rise. Holmes looked comical when his eyes widened. This always set him off laughing and that had gotten him into trouble with Holmes, Mrs Hudson, Mary, Lestrade and clients on occasion.

But he managed to suppress it.

The rest of this scene went very well. As the audience clapped at the end of the scene, the good doctor slumped in his chair. His shoulder started to ache, but he was more worried about the play.

Mary was playing Mrs Cratchit, and Michael Stamford as her husband, Bob Cratchit.

A/N: Well I hope you like this! Not used to incorporating plays into fics like I've just done. And for most of the lines from 'A Christmas Carol' I took them from a copy I found on a Ds game. So I hope this suits it. Reviews appreciated, as always!

Silvermouse :D


	22. Chapter 22

Prompt: Holmes finds a cell phone whilst pursuing a suspect, and must figure out how to work it.

By: SheWhoScrawls

Dressed in a ragged navy jacket and brown trousers, as well as scruffy black boots, one would hardly think that I was actually Sherlock Holmes. I had news of illegal smuggling which happened at this port. Amongst which was a short, thin fellow whom I was keeping an eye on as he was suspect to be the tradesman, or the piggy in the middle so to speak.

My sharp eyes caught even the smallest details that ordinary stupid people (and Watson) miss on a regular basis. Deductions sparked off in my mind as I listened and observed.

Amongst them was a tall, skinny man lifting a coil of rope. As I watched, a small black rectangular object fell out of his pocket and landed on the ground- right in front of me-as he walked past my hiding place.

It felt as if fate was tempting me. There was this object, taunting me, and yet I knew it would be too risky if I grabbed it straightaway, as I might get caught.

 _Oh to hell with it,_ I thought and snatched it off the ground. It felt cold and smooth. There was also buttons on it. With letters and numbers. And a panel that shone brightly.

As I watched I saw a small, odd shape icon appear on the top of the panel.

I wondered what the icon meant. I decided to take back to 221B and have Watson help me. He'll know what to do.

However, just as I was about to put this object in my pocket, it spoke to me.

"You have one call from John Watson."

Huh? How did Watson manage to…

"Sherlock is that you?"

"Err, yes?"

"You sound different Sherlock. Where are you?"

"At the docks."

"What I thought you were at Scotland Yard! But then again, if you decided to avoid Anderson and Donovan, then yeah, I get the point mate."

I felt well and truly confused now.

"Who are Anderson and Donovan?"

"The biggest idiots of Scotland Yard you nitwit! Wait- you're not Sherlock."

"I am Sherlock -well Sherlock Holmes."

"What the hell are you on about?"

A sudden crash brought me to my senses and there I saw two big burly men standing at the entrance to the alley.

"Well, I'll have to come back to you later."

"Wait Sherlock!"

"Ah so he SHer'ock Ho'mes, ain't he?"

"Yeah he is les get 'im!"

I am ashamed to admit that I let out an undignified squeak before using my long lean legs to propel me away from the men.

As soon as I returned to 221B I hid the object and scrawled out an advert to the paper

Found

A strange black object that lets you speak to one 'John Watson.'

And now to wait. I am being tortured by its presence. And Watson is not in the least bit sympathetic, either. He starts giggling whenever a loud 'beep!' is heard, as I always jump. Or curse. Or perhaps both.


	23. Chapter 23

Prompt: Holmes and Watson go to Narnia.

By: Catherine Spark

"Come on Watson knock. Our client is waiting."

Tentatively I raised a fist to knock on the old oak door in front of us. However, for the fifth time, I hesitated. Beside me, I could tell that Holmes was about to lose his patience.

"Dammit Watson! I'll do it!

He shoved me aside and then pounded on the door.

We waited for about two minutes when a rather unpleasant looking lady opened the door. She had grey hair which did not look as if it had been washed for weeks, with the result being that her hair looked like wisps of grey straw. Her eyes, beady and hollowed into her face, had a gaze that was more intimidating than a knife. If she so much as gazed at someone, then the whole body reacts as if it was left to the fate of the Antarctic.

"Ah good evening, Mrs Macready." My friend offered politely.

"So you are Mr Holmes."

"Correct."

"And who," she added, waving a hand in my direction, "is this?"

"Doctor Watson." I affirm, politely.

"He is my friend and partner. Holmes added. He is here to help me solve the case."

The lady sniffed.

"Mr Holmes! You are supposed to be a professional detective." She hissed. "And a professional detective-"

"Always recognizes when and where his Boswell is needed." He interrupted smoothly. "After you Watson." He added, stepping to one side.

"Absolutely not." she hissed, barring the door. "He is not welcome here!"

I was about to protest, but Holmes held up a hand.

"She is right Doctor. If she is unprepared for a guest extra, then I guess you will have to sleep elsewhere in the house, if Mrs Macready allows it."

"I'll take the sofa then." I yawn decisively.

Her eyes widened. "You are not welcome in the house! You should find an inn!

"But the inn has only one room, and it is poorly furnished I hear." My friend protested in his usual smooth manner. "It needn't be for long, Mrs Macready. I prefer my Boswell to be nearby."

She looked at him but then her tense frame melted slightly.

"Very well then. I will show to your rooms. You shall hear the details tomorrow."

"These beds are uncomfortable." I complain. I was already in my nightclothes and in bed.

"I know old man." Holmes said in sympathy, and patted my shoulder on a walk past me.

I just lie there, staring at the cracks on the ceiling. My eyes were slowly drooping, but I forced myself to stay awake, lest he need me.

"You can sleep for a while." Holmes informed me. "I need to think."

"Don't stay up late then." I warn.

"Goodnight Watson."

"Goodnight Holmes."

My eyes felt heavier and heavier until blackened clouded me.

 _Gunshots were ringing in my ears. The scorching desert sun began to roast me alive, as I hurried between patients. Their groans and cries, their screams and curses were audible, but I was unable to make sense of them. I was tending to one patient who had a bullet wound in his eye._

 _No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't patch up the wound. I couldn't save him_

 _The next thing I knew, I was on the sandy plains of Afghanistan. I was tending to a young private who had been shot in the side, and was unexpected to survive._

" _It's alright it's alright." I soothe. I grasp his hand and with the other, did my best to clean the wound and dress it._

 _But that was in vain. For he had been claimed by Thanatos._

 _Just as I stood up again, a Jezail bullet had struck my left shoulder. A miniature hell broke out_

" _Hold on Watson!" Yelled a voice._

" _Murray!" I gasp He was coming to save me!_

However, I was shaking violently. I had never felt so ill in my life. I just wanted to die…

I awoke panting, hands curled into my sheets.

For a moment all I could do was whimper.

Not a word was spoken.

I thought for a moment that Holmes did not hear my cries.

"Holmes?" I ask rolling over to face the other bed. 

It was empty.

I was chilled to the bone with fear.

Where was he?

Forcing myself to remain calm, I got up and searched the room. I couldn't find Holmes' revolver, overcoat, deerstalker or his pipe.

I did, however, find his nightclothes.

It was then that a cold sheet of glass had encased my heart and turned my blood to water.

My friend had left deliberately.

In a blind panic, I scrambled to the wardrobe to grab my coat and go out to look for him.

As I opened it, however, all I saw was a… lamppost? It was surrounded in a white blanket of snow.

It couldn't be real.

Could it?

Ever so slowly, I reached out…

Only for my foot to slip on an article of clothing and I had tumbled into the wardrobe.

White. That was all I could see. And all I could feel was the cold, gnawing at my hands and bare feet.

"Holmes!" I call out, wringing my hands. "Holmes!"

I ran to the lamppost- which was a regrettable decision, as I was now surrounded by snow and the cold was never kind to my old wounds.

"HOLMES!" I shriek "where are you?"

I continued to plough on regardless, shivering all the while. I was in my nightclothes and I had no slippers with me either. I was about to pull my coat on around me to trap some warmth, when I realised.

I didn't have it. I must have left it at Mrs Macready's.

The last I remember was seeing someone in the distance. But I regretted not finding out about this sooner, so I might have a chance of being reunited with Holmes.

…

"Peter! He's awake!" It sounded like a young girl.

I groaned sleepily. Who was speaking?

"Shush Lucy!" a voice reprimanded. "Are you alright sir?"

I opened my eyes. I was in a large and very opulent room. The bed, for one, was soft. A lot more comfortable than the bed at Mrs Macready's. On the other side of the room was a tall, iron barred window. And at a ninety degree angle from the window, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Two girls, one of eight, the other nearly a grown woman, were standing by the bed, looking at me with concern.

"I .. I am fine thank you." I reply.

"I am Susan Penesive , and this is my sister Lucy Penesive."

"My name is Doctor Watson. Now, would one of you be kind enough so as to tell me where I am?"

"You are in our castle in Narnia."

"Welcome!" Added Lucy.

I shook my head in amazement.

"How did I end up here?"

"Lucy and I found you coming back from a ride in the forests."

It was at that moment that I felt extremely thankful that someone had come in the nick of time, or else I would have died possibly.

"I thank you both for your hospitality but I need a bit of assistance. I was wondering if my friend Holmes had passed by."

"Well, if you mean the tall man with the nose like a bird's beak yes he's here. He is with our brothers Peter and Edmund." Explained Lucy.

"Thank you so much I am very grateful."

"There is no need to thank us." said Susan, raising her hand for silence.

"We are just doing what the rightful rulers of Narnia should do, and that is to help others!" Lucy beamed. I smiled.

Presently two boys came in. Behind them was…

"Holmes!" I gasp in joy.

He looked shocked to see me.

"Watson? How did you end up in here?"

"I slipped."

"On what?"

"My jacket."

"Now why on earth-"

"I dropped it. Now how did you end up in here?"

"Like you old boy -an accident."

"Why did you go in the wardrobe in the first place?"

"What do you _think_?" He asked emphasising on his last word.

"Oh, you went in there to think? Who thought Sherlock Holmes the greatest detective in London was such a closet thinker." I sneered.

"Shut up."

Silence descended upon our odd little group.

At last, Holmes spoke, and I will admit, I was glad that it was my friend's voice that broke the silence.

"So how do we get home?"

"Well…" said the younger boy hesitatingly

"The wardrobe has been acting up lately. It never seems to let anyone out. And by anyone, I mean us. We lived there once, you see."

Holmes frowned "I see." He muttered, darkly.

"Peter," Susan spoke up "I think we should take these poor gentlemen to Aslan."

"I agree." The elder boy nodded. "We leave tomorrow. But for now, we should all get some rest. This reminds me- Lucy, why aren't you in bed yet?"

"I was helping Susan!" The youngest protested.

"Very well." He turned to my companion.

"So Mr Holmes, where would you care to sleep?"

"If you don't mind, I'll sleep here thank you." Holmes replied in a polite but firm tone. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" The four children chorused and left the room.

"Holmes," I whisper once the four were out of earshot. "There is only one bed in here you know."

"Nice you noticed." He remarked, and then "Would you budge up a little?"

Confused, yet not someone who would willingly disobey my friend, I shuffled over.

Once I stopped, Holmes got in beside me

"Holmes!" I squeak. "This is what I hardly call appropriate!"

"You poor devil," the detective commented, ignoring my protests. "You're as cold as an ice cube."

"Well, I was in the snow in my nightclothes for how long?"

I will admit, I was still freezing and let out a sneeze by accident.

"Excuse me." I sniffed.

Holmes said nothing, but I felt his warm hand and his dexterous fingers gently begin to massage my back in soothing circles.

"Shh." he murmured, absentmindedly.

After letting out a cavernous yawn(which much to my embarrassment sounded like a rumble) I felt my eyes close gradually and Morpheus sending me to the deepest darkest realm in existence.

A/N: I know the Narnia stories are set in WWII, but for the sake of the prompt, it's in Victorian times. Unless anyone has any time shifting theories? I hope the Pevensies are in character as this is my first time writing them. Reviews appreciated!


	24. Chapter 24

Prompt: It is Christmas Eve, and Watson is trapped in a coal mine. He should never have trusted Holmes's promise that this would be a simple case.

By: Hades Lord of the Dead

When I opened my eyes I noticed that, much to my dismay, the entrance was blocked. Now what? I blame Holmes for all this. He had suggested we take on the case, and in the end, our typical dramas and deductions led us to chasing a man who was suspected of murder. He couldn't speak a word of English, so that was even worse.

"Watson?" called a tentative voice form the other side of the rocks "are you alright?"

"NO!" I snap. "I'm trapped in here with a foreign murderer and you haven't even thought how this would end."

"My dear fellow I-"

"No Don't. Just don't. You told me this would be a simple case, Holmes. You thought it would be so simple did you? Well I've had enough Holmes. You have dragged me into dangerous situations before, but this was the one thing I cross the line at do you hear me! Now I am going to die in here Holmes and it is your entire fault! "

I huffed. A ripple of pain flashed through my leg and I had to bite down the urge to cry out. It mostly succeeded, with only a slight whimper emitting from my throat.

The suspect approached me, like a tiny kitten towards its' new owner.

"¿Estas herido?" (Are you hurt?)

"Pardon?"

He indicated my bad leg, then pulled a face.

I nodded.

"Esto puede doler, asὶ que prepárese." ( This may hurt so prepare yourself.)

"I do beg your pardon, but I cannot understand…"

"Uno. Dos. Tres."

I realised then what he was doing. Counting.

Before I knew it, an excruciating relief began to wash over my ankle, followed by a violent throbbing, but I was too elated to notice. He had pushed the boulder off!

For a moment, I was speechless. Then I spoke.

"Thank you."

"De nada." (You're welcome)

The lad looked quite young- far too young to be a murderer. He was not entirely skinny, but he had a smaller build than myself or Lestrade.

"What's your name?"

"Como me llamo Ishmael." (I am called Ishmael)

"Ah, so you understand English, do you?"

He shrugged.

I decided to go with the fact that he didn't understand much.

"Doctor Watson." I offer, extending my hand.

Ishmael gave me a small and shy smile, before accepting my hand and applying so much pressure that I cursed the name of science for having to have pressure in it's so called glory.

"How old are you Ishmael?" I ask.

"Tengo trece años."

"You are thirteen?"

He nodded.

I cursed, this time at the error.

Holmes had got the murder wrong. It was not Ishmael who had done it. The real murderer was reported to be about sixteen years of age.

So who was the real murderer?

 _Stupid Holmes,_ I thought with bitterness in my mind and on the tip of my tongue. Holmes was going to pay for this. It was Christmas Eve. I had promised Mrs Hudson that Mary and myself would attend dinner at Baker Street with her and Holmes after the case.

But now I didn't think we would get out of here.

Or rather, that would get out of here (with Ishmael, of course. I was not heartless, like Holmes.)

I was broken out of my thoughts by a soft sniffling noise coming from the back of the coal mine.

 _Ishmael_ I thought, with a pang of sympathy stinging my heart. The pang rose to a feeling of going to try and comfort him.

With sincere difficulty, I rose and limped on my good leg to see what was wrong. I knew he would have wanted privacy, but neither of us were getting that right now.

Bloody Holmes.

I chased him out of my mind and tried to focus instead on the lad that I am stuck with.

"Is something the matter?" I inquire.

He didn't answer at all to begin with. He was staring at something clasped between his fingers, which he shoved to me.

It was an old locket. Inside it was a man a woman and two young boys. The elder was by his father's side and the younger in his mother's lap. The older boy closely resembled my acquaintance.

"Is… that you?" I ask pointing at the photo of the elder son.

"Sὶ." (Yes)

Hmm. Time for some deductions.

The photograph was slightly stained by water, presumably tears. And the locket looked like it had been passed down the family line. A family heirloom then.

I could not see any more in that locket, but I presumed that he missed his family.

"Hey it's alright." I said, gently rubbing his back. "You'll see them soon."

"Algún día en el Cielo." (Someday, in Heaven.) He replied, tears still flowing out of his brown eyes.

Cielo. I had heard that before. And then my mind wonders back to seeing an elderly patient who had spoken Spanish somewhat fluently. I was confused at the time, but later I found out that it meant 'Heaven.'

The horrible truth dawned on me. The poor fellow had no family left in the world.

I still had no clue who had committed the murder, but I knew that Ishmael had been framed for the murder. No doubt about it.

Rather quickly then was my usual custom I leaped into the air and ran to the mine blockage.

"Holmes, are you still there?"

"Yes I am!" He snapped. "What is it?"

"Ismael's innocent."

"What?"

"Holmes, he was framed. Think back. Look at the evidence! The data! I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that there is something on the body that we missed."

I was still unable to see my friend, but I knew him well enough to know that he was probably smoking on his pipe, processing the recently acquired data.

At last he admitted that he might have overlooked something.

"…an idiot I am, the biggest idiot out of all Europe! But we will get you out of there, my dear fellow, and you can tell us all once you are released from there."

"…Holmes unlike you, I have no interest in dramatics when it regards such matters. I would much rather tell you when I can still hear you."

"Now where's the fun in that, Doctor?"

I clapped a hand to my face in total dismay on hearing my friend's cheeky tone "Just get me out of here Holmes!" I exclaimed, through gritted teeth.

The detective sighed. "Well Lestrade, looks like our ship has sunk before she even set sail."

"Yes we can see that- now enough of the dramatics and help me clear these blasted rocks!" The inspector huffed. Bradstreet, Gregson and young Hopkins were also helping to clear the boulders from the mine.

I wandered back to where Ishmael laid waiting, still in the same position as before.

"I do apologise." I said with regret in my tone.

The boy just smiled at me- it was a small smile, but it was full of trust.

Suddenly my foot strayed onto a wet rock and the foothold became insufficient, throwing my foot out from under it. I crashed down at poor Ishmael's feet.

Unfortunately, my ankle was now definitely broken.

I glanced up, only to see Ishmael standing above me, holding a piece of old wood from the shaft support.

"Ishmael, what are you doing?"

Ohh, is Ismael to be trusted? I'll leave it to you to decide. Reviews appreciated!


	25. Chapter 25

Prompt: For the first time in a decade, Mycroft sends Sherlock a Christmas present

By: cjnwriter

"Well Holmes what is it?" my friend inquired

I was holding a small, square box in one hand. It had been mailed to me for Christmas.

"I don't know. I rely but that gives me an intriguing point of data, my dear Watson."

"And what's that, Holmes?

"Mycroft sent it." I told him. "Even when I was young, I could never deduce what Mycroft gave me for a present, for some absurd reason or other. This is the first present he sent me in over a decade."

Watson was about to reply, but then Mrs Hudson called him down.

"Mrs Hudson needs to see me. I shan't be long, my dear fellow." He told me. "You don't have to wait for me you know."

And with that, he padded out of the room and downstairs.

"Hmm, brother Mycroft what have you gotten me?" I asked myself, as I sprawled out on the sofa;.

There was an envelope with the package.

It was addressed 'Sherlock'

 _Well, that's me._ I thought. And I made up my mind to open the envelope.

Inside was a letter. I opened it and my sharp eyes started to scan the letter, but the contents caught them long enough for me to register the information.

It read

Dearest Sherlock

I know that you remember this. Do you remember the Christmas that I bought you a new magnifying glass? You were ever so pleased with it. Well, when you said it was stolen, I knew you were right. I was the thief. I had never intended to make you unhappy but I still did. And I still regret that to this very day. But I was unable to return it to you.

However, I now can. For I found it in a box of old things I was sorting out the other day. So I thought that I would send it back. I also found an old photograph in there which I have enclosed with it.

So I hope you have a Merry Christmas, brother mine, and do pass on my wishes to Doctor Watson and Mrs Hudson for me.

Yours sincerely,

Mycroft Holmes

I stiffened. So it was Mycroft fault that the magnifying glass that went missing? I was angry at him, taking it away from me and causing me that much grief! How dare he?

But then again, he did send a note to say sorry. And he gave it back as well. I guess I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Curiosity aflame, I slid my fingers into the envelope and pulled out a photograph

It was of Mycroft and myself, playing in the garden of our childhood home. I was showing Mycroft a ladybird I had seen through my new magnifying lens and Mycroft… his face radiated pride and…love.

Love I can imagine only an older brother can feel for his younger sibling.

"Myc." I whispered, feeling a moisture pour down my face.

Even after all our squabbles, and our aversion to sentiment, he still loved me.

And I still loved him.

As a little brother should love his older sibling.

Wiping away my tears, I carefully tore the paper.

Inside was a custom made leather box.

Cautiously, I opened it.

It was my magnifying lens! The metal rim had all the scratches in all the places it should have, and there was a piece of wood missing on the handle. I remember that came loose and gave me a splinter on my left thumb. Mycroft had been there to see to my injury. He had been the one to soothe my cries, wipe away my tears, and wash my face free of the tears. And he had given me a hug as well, one slightly longer than we were used to. I had needed that.

And right now, I wanted to hug Mycroft and tell him 'Thank you.'

A/N: Well, there you have it! Man, I love writing sweet brotherly stuff between these two. I might actually do more on their relationship in future.


	26. Chapter 26

Prompt: Leftovers and the secret cracker.

By: Emma Lynch

"Oh John look at all this food!"

"Yes I know it was quite a dinner we had last night." I reply

"I know- but we have far too much leftovers though!" she complained.

"I know." I sighed "I blame Holmes."

"Why John! That's not very nice!" She chided, but her smile was easy to see.

"Well he only had a bite or two, dear."

" The rest of us were socializing more than eating I suppose." she mused.

I just nodded. "Well I can always take some leftovers over to Holmes and fatten him up a little."

"Good idea John. You could do with a walk. After all, you're not the one who's carrying a child here!"

I feigned a feeling of hurt "Are you implying I've gained weight?"

"Maybe a little." She admitted, still smiling.

I chuckle. "Oh well, whatever you say. What shall I take?"

I had to struggle to 221B with some leftover turkey and Christmas pudding, which Mrs Hudson promised to ensure it would not go to waste; she will spoon feed it to the detective if she had to.

I could not help but laugh all the way home to Mary, earning me strange looks from harmless Londoners who had to put up with a possibly insane doctor. But I didn't care. I felt as though I was on top of the world. And on top of my toes.

…

By the time I returned, I found Mary holding in her hand a long slender object.

A Christmas cracker.

"Well, well Mary! Wherever did you find that?"

"It was in your medical bag John." she replied. "I knocked it over by accident and as I picked it up I found it nestled in there."

"Oh so that must be what Hopkins meant when he said something about a secret cracker!" I exclaim, trying to hold back laughter.

My beloved wife's eyes twinkled with a mischievous air .

"Would you like to pull one end, dear?" she asked me in a mock formal tone.

"With pleasure, darling." I answer, my tone matching hers perfectly.

We each grabbed one end and pulled hard.

POP!

Something fell out and hit the floor.

But neither of us cared.

For I had my wife in an embrace and we gave a passionate kiss.

"I love you Mary." I say, between breaths

"I love you too John." She replies, and we continue to kiss.

Well some Mary/John for a change! I hope you liked. Reviews appreciated!


	27. Chapter 27

Prompt: The Baker Street Irregulars and the missing ferret

By: Emma Lynch

"And then when -I looked back… in on him he… he

"Well what?" Richard asked impatiently.

"He was gone!" The young girl burst into tears of anguish. Wiggins, the leader of the Baker Street Irregulars- a band of young children who worked for the Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes- was the one who patted her shoulder gently.

"Hey it's alright Ali." He said gently. Fishing out a handkerchief he had gotten for Christmas, he handed it to her. She promptly blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

"We cin go out and look for him now if you like." Offered Wiggins

"Oh I would love to but I have to go to my grandmother's house soon. I don't have much time." Replied Alice. The Irregulars had never seen their friend in such distress.

"No problem Ali. We could go out and look for him if you want."

"Would you?" Alice asked, tearfully.

"Yeah sure." The boy replied.

"But, does Mr Holmes need you for a case?"

"No- not yet anyway."

"Well if you're sure." After taking a deep breath Alice threw her arms around Wiggins' neck.

"Thanks Wig." she murmured.

"Hey I haven't found him yet! But you're welcome I guess." He added sheepishly.

Alice gave him a tearful smile her blue eyes shining within a frame of brown, soft hair.

"Alice where are you?" called her mother.

"Quick, go!" She urged shooing the boys away. Alice was forbidden to hang with the Irregulars. But she always did. She hated most kids her age and social class. They were snobby and demanding attention all the time. She, on the other hand, had found a band of brothers among the Irregulars. They were mistrustful at first, but the youngest of the boys, Oscar, befriended her after she helped him when he fell and cut his knee. They would only allow Doctor Watson to see to them, but he was too far away. Alice stole supplies from her father; namely, an old shirt-as she couldn't find bandages- and some alcohol.

She turned to leave, but stopped when she saw the boy standing there.

"Don't worry Alice," he smiled his trademark toothy smile. "We'll find Ezekiel for you."

"I know you will." She gave Oscar a kiss on the forehead and watched him scamper off to join the others, before running off to join her parents and older siblings. They hated it when she was late, because they had little patience when it came to her. She was the child who broke the rules. Hanging out with the Irregulars was not only improper, but dangerous as well. But they never understood that she considered the boys to be more like her brothers than her own eldest siblings.

"Right, here's what we do!" Wiggins announced, with a note of authority he was known to have amongst his group.

He produced a map of London "We need data on what the ferret eats."

"Well," piped up Edward, an Irregular second oldest to Wiggins, and who was very smart, "they eat small animals like mice and rabbits apparently. But they lack a cecum which means they are unable to digest plant matter. So, in short; they can't eat grass."

"Well that's a problem. Hey where did you learn that anyway?"

"I learned about the plant matter from Alice but the word cecum I learned from Mister Holmes."

"Right."

Richard was the next to speak, "so you're saying we should try to lure the ferret to us?"

"Yeah. Unless anyone else has better ideas?"

"Well, we could split up," suggested Alfie. "He can't have gone far."

"Very well then. For Alice!"

"For Alice!" They chorused and they rushed to find Ezekiel.

They had split up into three groups of four boys each. Wiggins, Oscar, Israel and Jack went one direction. Richard, Alfie, Edward and Luke went another. And lastly, Ninian, Peter, Orville and Archibald went a third direction.

"Well I guess we search for footprints." Suggested Israel quietly.

"Hm, nothing here." Jack stated.

"Or here!" Squeaked Oscar.

"Listen!" Hissed Wiggins.

The boys were silent. Tension was in the air.

Suddenly they heard a loud scream coming from a garden nearby.

"A rat! A RAT!"

"Calm down darling- that is a ferret"

"I don't care what it is- I want it out of my garden!" She shrieked.

"Honestly!" Huffed Wiggins "I've had to stand next to a dead body for five minutes whilst Mister Holmes prepared a message and yet I didn't pass out or scream."

"Jacobson, bring my gun!"

"Quick!"

The four boys darted out, only to see a dark brown ferret with a 'white mask' face scurrying away.

"After 'im boys!" bellowed Wiggins.

The boys ran as fast as they could go. But Ezekiel was too clever. He disappeared down a side path and disappeared whilst the boys were momentarily distracted.

"Darn- we near had him!" Sighed the leader.

"Don't give up now mate." Encouraged Jack. He can't have gone far.

"I hope you're right." Wiggins sighed again. Ferrets were confusing.

Meanwhile Edward, Richard, Alfie and Luke were hunting in the opposite direction.

"Any sign?" Richard asked Alfie.

"Nope. But we'll find the devil yet." Alfie replied, with a determined glint in his eye.

"There- over there!" Yelled Luke

Sure enough, a flash of brown and white disappeared into some bushes.

"Ezekiel come on out boy." coaxed Alfie gently.

An inquisitive nose stuck itself out from the buses. It sniffed the air.

"Easy does it lads." said Alfie, with a hint of faint but tangible caution in his voice.

The four boys pounced but Ezekiel ran away before anyone can catch him.

"Catch that ferret!" Yelled Richard.

No needed telling twice.

"It's a nice day isn't it Holmes?"

"Indeed Watson." Agreed his companion.

Suddenly all they could hear was a stampede.

"What the deuce is the commotion all about?" The veteran asked, eyes scanning the horizon.

"I have no idea, my dear fellow." Replied the sleuth.

Suddenly a flash of brown made a beeline for Holmes long legs and wrapped itself round the detective.

"Watson help!"

"It's just a ferret Holmes."

"Halt we have you now Ezekiel!" A familiar voice crowed.

"Wiggins?" The men chorused.

"Oh hey Doc. Mr Holmes sir." The lad replied, suddenly deciding the stones on the pavement were worth studying.

"Who does this ferret belong to?"

"Our friend Alice." Replied the boy. "She was most upset as he ran away."

Just then, Archie approached.

"I have bait." He assured them and then held out a dead mouse from his pocket.

Here Ezekiel some nice dead mouse for lunch."

The ferret sniffed, tentatively.

The others grimaced, but Archie didn't care. He was not afraid of touching dead things. Well, dead animals anyway. NO one was sure about a dead human, but they weren't concerned, as they were almost never dead bodies anyway.

The cheeky fellow continued sniffing, his inquisitive nose taking in the smells of the dead mouse.

Soon Ezekiel was in the grasp of the Irregulars. He had eaten his mouse, but was obviously sniffing the boys, hoping for a bite.

"Sorry 'bout that, Mister Holmes sir." Wiggins said nervously. He had started to shuffle his feet.

"It is alright." Holmes replied, with a calm demeanour . "Just return the ferret to his owner quickly. And ensure his appetite is satisfied! Ferrets eat constantly!"

"We will sir." Promised Wiggins. "Let's move, boys! We have one ferret to return!"

The boys ran off again.

"Oh Ezekiel you poor thing -you must be starved!" Alice fussed over her beloved pet.

"Nah, Archie kept finding dead mice for him to eat. Oscar would have been dinner otherwise!"

"Boys, thank you so much for bringing him home!"

"Meh no problem Ali." Wiggins replied- but his face went absolutely beetroot red when she kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you so much! I'm afraid I have to go now- but thanks again!"

You're welcome Ali!" chorused the Irregulars.

"Well." said Wiggins, clapping his hands gleefully, once Alice returned inside. "That is one ferret returned to his owner. Now I don't know 'bout you lot but I'm famished."

The other boys were quick to share the sentiment

"To Baker Street!"

"To Baker Street!" cried the others and they all charged to Baker Street on their next adventure- hopefully obtaining cookies from Mrs Hudson!


	28. Chapter 28

Prompt: You'll be the death of me

By: Sendai

I awoke, bundled in blankets on an unfamiliar sofa and in an unfamiliar dormitory.

"Sherlock are you alright?" asked a voice.

 _Trevor_ I registered.

A cool hand lays itself gently upon my forehead, deflecting discomfort I was feeling

"T…Trevor?" I manage to ask, in spite of the fact that I was still shivering too much, and my voice I could now barely trust.

"I told before, you can call me Victor and more importantly, do you realise how big of an idiot you've been?"

"N...no."

"No surprise. Just eat this." He handed me a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

I took it gratefully. "What happened , Victor?"

"Well you made William Rushcross really mad to start with."

"Oh yes -the deductions of how he failed his exams and of his-"

"Just stop, Sherlock."

"Sorry." I apologise. Obviously he didn't want to remember how my deductions had brought me harm than good.

"It's fine. Don't know about old Rushcross though. He was mad enough to give you a shiner."

I grimaced- that explained my eye.

"What else?"

"Well- he and his mates grabbed you and dunked you in the river."

"Ah now I remember." I honestly wish to higher fates that I could forget. Being dunked in a cold, freezing river in early December had been the last thing on my superior mind.

"Well you're lucky I forget my textbooks. If I hadn't left mine in Mathematics, you might have well become his pet goldfish."

"Not funny." but secretly I was relieved.

"That well may be but when I found what they'd done to you I figured I'd take a bit of revenge."

His left knuckle, I noticed was bandaged up and covered in blood. Not much blood, but it was still worrying enough for me.

I also observed something else. In his trouser pocket was a piece of paper which had been crumpled up. I felt a sinking feeling within me when I realised what it was.

"I got you in trouble."

"What? What are you on about, Sherlock?"

"Your pocket. You have a disciplinary notice."

He fished it out and looked at it. Then he threw it into the burning fire.

"I don't care about that." He told me defiantly. "I'm more worried about you, Sherlock."

"Well I brought this upon myself so I don't deserve-"

"Sympathy? Rubbish! Just because you've been an idiot doesn't mean I'll leave you to get pneumonia." He chuckled at my puzzled expression. "Honestly Sherlock. Someday you'll be the death of me. Now budge up."

I obeyed. Normally I would remain stubborn on the subject, but in this instance I was too cold and tired.

Victor slumped down on the sofa next to me. Still shivering I manage to weakly trawl back and snuggle close to my friend for warmth.

Morpheus came to my door soon after.

Several years later...

"Holmes!"

I opened my eyes. I was in Baker Street again, in my flat. Well, our flat. Watson was here too. He was holding my hand, stroking and rubbing the back with his thumb.

"Watson?"

"Oh Holmes thank the Lord you survived! I hope you never do that again."

"Do what?" I ask, as I had little recollection of what happened.

"Jump in the Thames of course! One of these days you'll be the death of me."

I smile at that. I remember how Victor had attained a disciplinary notice to save me from being drowned by Rushcross, and of his words towards me.

" _Honestly, Sherlock. Someday you'll be the death of me."_

Mycroft had been the first person I knew to say that. Then Victor. And now Watson. My Boswell. He had jumped in the Thames for me.

"Holmes!"

I jumped.

"I said, do you want tea?"

"If you would be so kind." I reply curtly and nestle down within the blankets and went into a light doze.


	29. Chapter 29

Prompt: A journey home is delayed by bad weather

By: mrspencil

Warning: May be a bit OOC. I don't know. I hope not.

I gritted my teeth as I ploughed through the blizzard that was currently preventing me from getting home. I had ventured into the country to see to an elderly patient. But on the way back, the horse fell dangerously ill. After stopping at an inn with stables, I was offered a chance to spend the night there also. But I had refused. I had promised Holmes that I will be back tonight. And I was determined to keep that promise.

But as the wind threw soft yet violent punches at me, I wondered if this was such a good idea after all. The moon had retreated behind dark clouds and was gone in seconds, the wind was blowing hard enough to push me along and snow flew all around him. I knew in an instant that I would never make it. My war wounds were in such pain now as I had never known before. I longed to be warm. My body craved heat.

I wanted to be warm. Or I wanted to die.

In the distance I saw a light, gleaming against the darkness, like hope gleaming against the fears. I continued to walk, but found myself slowing down.

I let out a long loud groan.

Then I saw it. Or her. A woman. She walked calmly and serenely towards me. She had a long flowing dress with long sleeves and had… wings? They were white and made of feathers.

At the strange sight, I began to panic. But she gently held out a hand and stroked my cheek.

"Shh," she whispered "you poor soul. John?"

"Hm?"

"Can you stand?"

"I don't think so." I admit, truthfully.

"Well I'll help you." And with that she hauled me up gently and then she lifted me.

"I can only carry you as far as the house there John." she told me pointing a few miles down, "will you be alright?"

"I hope so." I reply. My wounds were aching terribly.

My eyes soon started to drop.

"No don't." I scolded myself, but the temptation was too big to resist.

Sleep, in the end, overcame me.

When I awoke, I saw my dear friend Holmes holding my hand.

"Watson."

"Holmes -is that you?"

"Yes it is." Then in a sterner tone. "You are an idiot. Why did you march through that blizzard? I got a fright when I heard that you were not in shelter."

"Oh Holmes I am so sorry!" I gasped. "But the carriage was late and I so desperately wanted to see you that I went through all that just to get home."

"But Watson, you could have died! And then where would I be without my Boswell?" He asked me. Then much to my alarm, he began to sob

"Holmes, I am so sorry." I say quietly, close to tears as well.

The two of us embrace, tears pouring onto the other's shoulders. I held on tight to Holmes, never letting go. He the same.

When we finally separate, a piece of paper fell on my lap. I sneaked a quick glance at it.

It read

 _Stay well John. I have brought Sherlock from London to keep you safe and give you company._

 _With love,_

 _Zylphia._

"Thank you." I whisper. I am very relieved to be reunited with my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes.

And I have a guardian angel- no, two watching over me.

Holmes and Zylphia.

A/N: Forgive me if I seem like I am pushing Christian beliefs down anyone's throats, because I am not. I've just been obsessed with angels lately and wanted to write one. So there you have it. I also know that Zylphia isn't an angel name. I just found it on a Victorian name site and came up with the character(who was inspired by my new sun catcher. She's all I own.


	30. Chapter 30

Prompt: Hunting Lodge

By: Sendai

I looked out of the window, panting. Watson and I had ended up in the middle of nowhere when we had found criminals escaping from London. During the chase, one of them had ambushed us, and shot Watson in the leg. At the moment blood had blossomed on his trousers, I had to pray to a higher fate to help me resist the temptation of fishing my revolver and shooting him dead.

Instead, I bandaged the wound as best as I could, and carried him to an old hunting lodge, standing desolate and gloomy. Even when I had shut the door cold air still lingered around the house. I knew, logically, that this was not an ideal place to be. But the snow outside is out of the question.

I stare at my companion, who is sleeping on the floor under the window, by my feet.

A sigh escapes my lips. Watson looked so peaceful, so innocent in sleep that I began to torture myself on bringing him out of London. I was in no hurry to wake him, as his injury is stable for the time being, and although it is dreadfully cold in here, it isn't enough to kill someone straightaway.

Slowly, I slide to the floor in a dramatic fashion and gently lift up my Boswell and position him so that his cheek rested on my shoulder. His heat radiated off him and I was glad of it. I hoped that Watson was getting warmth from me, though hat was unlikely.

As I stirred to look out of the window and see whether anyone was there Watson moaned something unintelligible.

"Watson." I said, trying to rouse him.

"Ho'mes?"

"Glad to see you're alive."

He grinned, but only slightly.

"Where are we Holmes?"

"Just an old hunting lodge old chap. It's alright."

My friend only nodded, then shut his eyes again.

His, soft gentle snores rebrevated into my shoulder.

I sighed and pulled him closer. Poor Watson. I wish there was something I could do to get him out of this mess.

Suddenly, there was a thumping at the door.

I felt my heart go into my mouth and curse. If I had been on my own, I could have hidden quickly. But I could not leave John to his fate. That was unthinkable.

So very quietly, I moved Watson near the door, as I felt uneasy leaving him at the window. Then I got into position, weapon in hand.

It was not my revolver.

It was a needle, filled to the brim with morphine.

I did not know what would happen, but I was certain of one thing.

John Watson must _not_ die. Whatever that costs me, he will _live_.


	31. Chapter 31

Prompt: Mrs Hudson loses her s**t

By: Catherine Spark

I, Mrs Hudson, the long suffering landlady of 221B, am a woman of my word. If I ever caught my tenants Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson doing something, say, shoot the walls, cause explosions with strange chemicals or destroy the furniture, then a rise in the rent was inevitable. If I insisted that Mr Holmes had to eat something after two weeks of surviving on almost nothing, then may the Lord help all on Baker Street!

However, in a way, they had become the sons I never had. My friends all understood why I was fond of the good doctor, but how I could even tolerate Sherlock Holmes was beyond them.

One day, I had invited Heather Plumpsbridge, a mutual acquaintance she had not seen in a long time, round for tea. She was a thin, haughty woman who had a nose like a vulture- well she was like a vulture in general. She spoke with a dry, crisp tone, and her manners were the same. Her dress was grey, and the skirts almost refused to flow behind, instead dragging along the freshly cleaned carpets of 221B.

"Hello Martha." she sniffed

"Hello Heather." I replied. I didn't really like her I had only decided to be polite. But now, I could see that the invite was already a big regret.

"So how have you been all these years?"

"Well enough!" She snapped.

I was offended -but had learned enough from my tenants to comment.

"I say, what's with all this?" she asked, eyeing Holmes' chemistry table.

"Why that's Mr Holmes work of course."

"How can you put up with that? The smells the noise and the explosions! Not to mention smoke and the mess."

"I am a woman of patience Heather." Replied I "One must expect the unexpected with Mr Holmes."

"Well that hardly seems fair." She commented.

"Hardly." I agree.

"So where are your tenants?"

"Doctor Watson is away on his rounds- but Mr Holmes is home."

"I should like to meet him."

"Are you sure, Heather?"

"Just do it Martha!"

"Mr Holmes!"

There was a clamour on the stairs and the detective poked his head round the door.

"Yes Mrs Hudson?"

"Mrs Plumpsbridge wants to meet you sir."

"Very well then." he sighed "I'm sure I'll cope at least." He entered the sitting room and strode meekly towards the woman on the sofa

"I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Plumpsbridge."

"Hmph!" She just snorted. I raised an eyebrow.

"Shall I fetch you ladies some tea?"

"Yes please Mr Holmes." I say, eagerly, hoping to get him away.

"Very well then. I shan't be long."

And with those words, he left the two to continue conversing.

Presently, Holmes returned with the tea.

"Here you are, ladies."

"Thank you kindly Mr Holmes." I replied

We picked up a teacup, filled with steaming hot tea, and took a sip.

Heather blanched, then spat the tea out.

"That had salt in it!"

Holmes was stricken "I do apologise." he said in alarm and couldn't help but wince when he noticed the look on my face.

"That is not tea that is poison!" she ranted to me, once she left.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it." I reply "He is trying." 

After that, poor Holmes was berated all the time whenever he made them tea; Heather complained it was too hot and then too cold and other complaints which she could find at fault with the tea.

At last, the detective had had enough -and on his last attempt he brought in the tea, disaster struck. He had only intended to put the tray down and leave again, but in his frustration, tripped over his violin.

And dropped the tray.

The tea sloshed forth from the teapot and, with a magnificent sizzle, the contents were soon all over her lap.

"AAOOWIEEE!" She shrieked. She had jumped forth and with that, she slapped Holmes in the face, with enough force to send him flailing to the ground. But she wasn't done yet! To our horror, she picked up a pile of notes concerning his latest case and flung on the burning coals of the fireplace and an old, tatty journal which belonged to Watson, who still had a case to publish was quick to join it.

Suddenly all I saw was red. I could very well deal with Heather's rudeness yes, and I had acted like a saint almost just for the sake of a spot of tea. But to see anyone destroying her tenant's work in such a manner, and to see her lay a hand on the detective was more enough for me, thank you very much!

"Heather Frances Plumpsbridge!" I shrieked "I invited you here for some tea, not for you to destroy Mr Holmes' work! Or to slap him! Yes, he may very well be the very worst tenant in London- if not England. But none of my other tenants, save Doctor Watson, have given me so much respect even though he rarely shows it! Mr Holmes is a respectable gentleman and I have grown to love him like my own flesh and blood and to see you destroy his work and to lay a hand on him as well! Wouldn't you like to find out what I would do to you!"

The old lady paled -and then turned around screaming out of the flat.

By Jove, that felt good! But my triumph was short lived when I saw Mr Holmes staring at the fireplace.

"My notes." He whispered, his voice cracking.

I helped Mr Holmes onto his feet

"I am so sorry Mr Holmes." I say, sadly. I inspect his cheek. It had a red mark starting to show, so I went to find a clean cloth and some cold water .

It was when Mr Holmes sent me a look filled with vulnerability and trust in his eyes that fuelled me with sympathy for my tenant and also anger such pure anger that I had wanted to hunt her down and strangle her on the spot.

"There that should do." I say firmly, patting his cheek gently.

"Mrs Hudson, before you go… I just …want to say."

"Yes, Mr Holmes?"

"I… I'm sorry that… I …well." he flapped his hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter Mr Holmes I never truly liked her, to be honest."

"But why did you stick up for me, even so?"

 _Because that's what a mother does_ I thought but couldn't bring myself to say those words aloud. So I said instead

"Even though you are the worst tenant in London Mr Holmes you also happen to be the most interesting."

The detective smiled at me, before curling up on the sofa and falling into the embrace of Morpheus. Smiling, I pick up a blanket from under the sofa and drape it over the body of Sherlock Holmes. I then brush away his black curls and then leave for my own flat, which was in need of a good dusting.


End file.
